Another Dark Knight
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: An alternate universe story based on the events in my story "Blood Brothers." What if Thomas and Martha Wayne hadn't been murdered in Crime Alley, and the only change in Bruce's life came in the introduction of his half-brother, Jack Napier? Without Batman and the Joker, the two brothers' lives and relationship would be completely different. Or would they? Thanks to blackcat9517!
1. Chapter 1

**Another Dark Knight**

Strange how the smallest of actions could completely alter the course of the future.

That's what Mr. Joe Chill was thinking as he sat in the alley outside the Monarch Theater, fingering the gun in his pocket and trying to keep the cold and the rain at bay. He didn't have anything else to do but think, he considered glumly, as he checked his watch and sighed. He was waiting for some people to come out of the theater so he could kill them. There was nothing he enjoyed more than killing people, but there was nothing he enjoyed less than waiting.

His thoughts flicked back to a few days ago, when he had killed someone else with the help of his friend, Joseph Napier. In fact, the reason he was on this hit tonight was because of Napier – Napier wanted these people dead. It was a matter of honor. And so Chill had offered to help his friend out, for a price, of course.

His price had been Napier's wife, Mary. He had come with Napier to his house, and the two of them had had their fun with Mary, after which they had murdered her. She had deserved it too, thought Chill – the little slut had slept with her boss, Thomas Wayne, and had a kid by him. A kid that Napier had always assumed was his, but was in actuality the bastard son of some rich jerk. So the woman deserved to be punished, for lying, and for cheating on her husband. Little actions with big consequences, actions that had altered her future, and that of her son's. The kid was probably dead now too – Napier had said he was going to take care of him the minute he came home. And Chill didn't doubt Napier's word.

Chill checked his watch again. He had been waiting in this alley ever since he saw the Waynes enter the movie theater with their son, Bruce. It had been a while ago, and Chill was getting cold and wet. He had ducked into the alley to avoid the rain, but it didn't offer much protection. And as fun as the killing was going to be, Chill began to wish he'd brought along a drink, or something to keep himself warm. But how much longer could the movie really go on for?

Little decisions with big consequences, he thought, trying to distract himself from the cold and damp with philosophical musings. The Waynes' decision to go to the movie theater tonight would be the last decision they ever made. Didn't seem so big, but it was going to lead to big consequences. And what would be the future of Gotham without its benefactors? The town would probably go to hell, but it was going there anyway, thought Chill. Do-gooder philanthropists like the Waynes could never understand that all their money and good intentions were useless. People were always gonna go bad, and a big city was always gonna have a lot of people going bad. A city would always have violence and crime – that was the destiny of all cities. Maybe the future could be altered by little things, but destiny could never be altered, even by big things.

He shook his head – this was all getting a bit deep for him. Thinking too much was always trouble. It would make you afraid to take any action if you thought about all the ways in which even the smallest thing could influence the course of the future. You couldn't live your life thinking about stuff like that. You just had to act.

And he was going to act right now, he resolved, standing up. He estimated the film had about half an hour yet, and he was going to head to a nearby bar and get something to warm himself up. He was sure he'd be back here in plenty of time, and could do the job he had already taken payment for.

But in this particular reality, this small action on the part of Joe Chill altered the future in unimaginable ways. Chill's decision to go to a bar and order a drink resulted in him ordering another one. And then another, and then another. And his decision to take offense at another patron's remark resulted in him getting into a fight with said patron, which resulted in the owner's decision to call the police. And that decision made Joe Chill clear out of the area quickly before they could arrive, since the cops were the last people a man of his criminal record wanted to encounter.

All of which resulted in Thomas and Martha Wayne returning home safely with their son after the movie had finished. They didn't meet their deaths at the hands of Joe Chill in Crime Alley. And the next day, Joe Chill found out that Joseph Napier had been murdered by the bastard kid, Jack, after he had found his mother dead in the apartment. Chill saw no reason why he should inconvenience himself fulfilling a promise to a dead man. And so Thomas and Martha Wayne lived. Batman was never created on that dark, drizzly night in Gotham City. The future was undeniably different, and Bruce Wayne's destiny was altered forever. Or was it?


	2. Chapter 2

"Please come in, Mr. Wayne," said Officer Jim Gordon, holding open the door for Thomas Wayne. "He's just in here."

"Thank you," said Thomas, entering the room to see a teenage boy seated with his head bowed and his wrists handcuffed together. He was pale and shivering, but he looked up as Thomas entered, and his green eyes studied him in suspicion, shining with a fierce intensity.

"Jack, do you remember me?" asked Thomas, gently.

"Yeah," he muttered. "You're that rich guy whose party we went to. Was it you who told the cops to tail me?"

"Yes, it was, Jack," said Thomas, sitting down on the bench next to him. "Officer Gordon, please remove the handcuffs," he said. "Surely they're not necessary. The boy's only fifteen."

"Yes, sir, and he's a murder suspect," retorted Gordon. "Plus he violently resisted arrest. I think we'd rather be safe than sorry at this point."

"I'd like the handcuffs removed, please," said Thomas, firmly. "Or will I need to report you to your superiors?"

Gordon obeyed slowly, unlocking the handcuffs. Jack rubbed his wrists but said nothing, staring intently at the floor.

"Now Jack, I wanted the police to find you for a very good reason," said Thomas, gently. "First of all, I'm very interested in finding your mother's killer…"

"I didn't kill her!" snapped Jack. "My bastard son of a bitch father killed her, and I made him pay for it! I shouldn't be punished for that! Someone should have killed his sorry ass a long time ago!"

Thomas was silent. "Maybe so," he agreed. "But the police have told me that, according to the DNA evidence, your mother was…violated by more than one man. They think this other man may also have been complicit in her murder."

"Yeah, I know," muttered Jack, his eyes burning fury. "I dunno who he is, but I'm gonna find out. And I'm gonna kill him."

"The DNA belongs to a man named Joe Chill," replied Thomas. "Not much is known about him – he's a wanted criminal who's pretty good at evading the police. But if you want to bring him to justice, the police need to know if you know anything about him. Was he a friend of…your father's?"

Jack shook his head slowly. "I never saw him before he visited the apartment the day of…"

He trailed off as tears came to his eyes, and he wiped them away hastily, forcing a glare back on his face. "Anyway, why do you care so much about the murder of one of your employees?" he muttered. "I'm sure you can always find someone else to fill the job."

Thomas was silent again. "Mary…wasn't just my employee," he said, gently. "There was a time, before I met my wife, when…we were lovers. Does that shock you?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't shock easily after living with my bastard father for fifteen years. He'd do and say horrible things every day. I hope you at least were kind to her, unlike him. Although considering you married someone else, I guess you can't have loved her that much."

"I did love her very much," replied Thomas. "But she was married. And she was too scared to divorce him or leave him…"

"So you just let her stay with that monster," muttered Jack. "Couldn't have loved her too much, like I said."

"She made her own decisions," said Thomas. "I did everything I could to change her mind, believe me. But she always had the last word. And she insisted on…things I wouldn't necessarily have agreed with. But I did love her, and I respected her decisions. She was a very strong woman, as I'm sure you know."

"Not strong enough," he muttered, wiping his eyes again. He looked up at Thomas. "What are they gonna do to me?" he asked, nodding at Gordon. "Are they gonna try to send me to prison for doing a public service?"

"Murder is never justified, Jack," said Gordon, sternly.

"It is to save someone's life," he murmured. "And if I'd killed him sooner, I would have been able to save hers…"

He choked on a sob, burying his face in his hands. Thomas put an arm around his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "You're not going to prison, Jack," he said, gently. "I know you feel hurt and frightened and alone, but…you're not going to be alone anymore. I'm going to take you home to Wayne Manor. You're going to live there from now on, and you're going to have the best of everything money can buy."

"I don't want your charity!" snapped Jack, shoving his arm away.

"It's not charity," replied Thomas. "It's my duty to Mary. And to you."

"Why would you care what happens to me?" Jack demanded.

Thomas looked at him tenderly. "Because you're my son," he murmured.

Jack stared back at him in shock. "What do you mean…I'm your son?" he gasped.

"Your mother…thought it best to pretend that you were her and her husband's child," said Thomas. "She thought if people knew about you, I'd be disgraced, and she didn't want that to happen. So she insisted that we pretended you were Napier's child. But the truth is, you're mine. At the party, she asked me to take care of you if anything happened to her. And I fully intend to do just that."

He took his hand. "You're going to come home with me, and be properly introduced to your step-mother, and half-brother. And from now on, the whole world is going to know that you're my son, Jack Wayne."

Jack ripped his hand away. "I don't want to be your son, Mr. Wayne!" he hissed. "I don't want anything your fancy money can buy! The only thing I want is my mother, and all your wealth can't bring her back! So I don't want anything to do with it!"

"Jack, I understand you're shocked and upset," said Thomas, gently. "But I think when you think about it, you'll realize this is no bad thing. You're going to have a great future now. And I'm going to see to it that you want for nothing, and do everything I can to make up for all the time I've wasted with you. You'll have a family again – a real, happy family."

Jack glared at him, but said nothing. "I don't want a family, Mr. Wayne," he muttered.

"You can call me Dad, Jack…" began Thomas.

"My first Dad didn't work out so good," retorted Jack. "So I'd prefer to call you Mr. Wayne."

Thomas nodded slowly. "As you wish. Will you let me take you home?"

Jack shrugged. "Better than being in this dump," he muttered.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, but Jack can't just walk out of here with you," said Gordon. "He's killed a man. The law can't just pretend that didn't happen…"

"Yes, it's none of your business, Officer Gordon," interrupted Thomas, firmly. "I'll just have a quick word with your superior and I'm sure he'll see reason. I won't let my son's name be dragged through the mud with lurid murder details being splashed all over the papers. I'm sure we can hush this up quietly. What do you think?"

"I think, sir, that the justice system can't be bribed…" began Gordon, angrily.

"Then I think you haven't been in it very long," snapped Thomas. "And you'd better wise up if you hope to remain in it. Good evening, Officer Gordon."

Thomas led Jack out to his car, where his butler Alfred held the door open for him. "Jack, this is Alfred," said Thomas. "He'll attend to any needs you might have. Alfred, my son, Jack Wayne."

"It's an honor to serve you, Master Jack," said Alfred, bowing.

Jack didn't say anything, climbing into the car and looking sullenly out the window. He was silent the entire ride, until the car pulled up into the expansive drive of Wayne Manor.

"I can get outta a car on my own!" snapped Jack as Alfred opened the door and held out a hand to help him.

"As you wish, sir," replied Alfred, unperturbed. He opened the front door and led them both into the drawing room, where Martha Wayne and her son Bruce were playing with toys in front of a blazing fire.

"Jack, you remember my wife, Martha," said Thomas, gesturing at her as she stood up, beaming at him.

"Welcome home, Jack," she said, embracing him. "I'm so happy to see you again. I hope we can be the best of friends – in fact, I hope you'll think of me as a mother to you."

He glared at her. "You're not my mother, Mrs. Wayne," he muttered.

"Oh no, of course not, Jack," she said, gently. "That's not what I meant. I'm not trying to replace your mother. I just hope you'll consider me as someone to love and trust. Someone who cares for you very deeply."

"There's no reason you should," he snapped. "I'm not your kid. I'm the kid of the woman your husband loved before he met you. The woman who he should have married, if he had any sense of decency."

Martha didn't quite know how to respond to the hostility in his tone, and Thomas decided to change the subject. "Uh…Bruce, why don't you come over here and say hello to your brother?" he said, calling his son over. "You remember him from the party."

"Yeah. You hit me," said Bruce, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at him.

"You hit me first," retorted Jack. "Where's your stupid costume now?"

"In my room," snapped Bruce. "And it's not stupid. You're the one who looks stupid, with your ugly, dirty, old clothes that are too small for you…"

"Bruce, don't start fights with your brother," said Thomas, sternly, intercepting the fist Jack raised to hit Bruce.

"I wasn't! He started it!" cried Bruce. "He called my costume stupid!"

"Look, Jack, why don't I give you a quick tour of the manor?" asked Thomas, changing the subject again. "It may take you a couple days to find your way around, but that's only natural. There's a bell to call Alfred from every room in case you get lost…"

He led Jack out of the room with Bruce glaring after him. "Why does that stupid kid have to live here?" muttered Bruce, returning to his toys.

"Because he's your brother, Bruce," said Martha, gently. "And he's been through more than you know. A lot of terrible things have happened to him, and we have to try to be patient and understanding."

"Why, if he's gonna be mean to me?" demanded Bruce.

"He's only mean because he doesn't know any better, Bruce," said Martha. "He only knows to treat people the way he's been treated, and he's been treated very badly. We have to help him change that. We have to be kind and loving to him, even when he seems mean and rude to us. It's our job to help him be happy again. To help him find his smile again."

"How can somebody lose their smile?" asked Bruce, frowning in confusion.

"It's just an expression, sweetheart," said Martha, kissing him. "Sounds like a job for a hero, though, doesn't it? And you do wanna help your brother, don't you? Isn't that what a hero would do?"

Bruce nodded. "Ok, Mommy. I'll help him find his smile."


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't you feel like eating, Jack?" asked Martha at dinner that night. Jack had barely touched the plate in front of him – he just glared at the table with his arms folded across his chest, and shook his head in response to the question.

"Are you sure?" she asked, gently. "It's very good…"

"Yeah, that's the problem," he interrupted. "I ain't used to good food. I don't like the way it tastes."

"Well…what kind of food are you used to?" asked Martha. "I'm sure Alfred can prepare anything you might want…"

"I don't want anything!" he snapped. "I ain't hungry!"

Bruce laughed. "You talk funny," he said, smiling at Jack. "Using made-up words like 'ain't'…"

"Ain't ain't a made-up word!" snapped Jack, and Bruce giggled again.

"Ain't ain't!" he repeated. "You're funny."

"Glad I can amuse you, kid," muttered Jack. "Don't laugh at me, all right?"

"Why not, if you're funny?" asked Bruce.

"You like being laughed at?" demanded Jack.

"No, but I'm not funny," replied Bruce. "If you're funny, you should like being laughed at."

"Do I look like a clown to you?" growled Jack.

"Boys, please," said Thomas. "Don't fight. How are the new clothes, Jack?" he asked, changing the subject. "They look great."

"Yes, you're such a handsome young man, Jack," said Martha, smiling at him. "Just like your father."

"I don't think I look much like your husband, Mrs. Wayne," muttered Jack, adjusting his collar. "The clothes are fine. Little stiff, but at least they fit."

"I'm glad," said Thomas, smiling at him. "It's best to get the basics sorted first – things seem a little less strange when you're well dressed and well fed."

He gestured for Alfred. "Why don't you bring Jack a little bread and soup? I'm sure he can manage that."

"Yes, sir," said Alfred, heading off to the kitchen.

"How's your schooling been, Jack?" asked Thomas. "Bruce has a private tutor, and I'm trying to find one for you. What sorts of things have you learned?"

Jack stared at him blankly. "I…uh…I ain't never been to school," he muttered. "Dad…sorry, Mr. Napier, he…he sent me out to work as soon as I was old enough to stand. Mom…Mom taught me to read and write a little, but that's about all I know."

Bruce laughed again, but stopped at the warning look his mother gave him. "Oh, well, don't worry about that," said Thomas. "It'll be easy enough to find you a tutor who can start from scratch. Maybe you can even share Bruce's lessons."

"I'm learning fractions," said Bruce. "And multiplication and division, because I'm smart."

"I don't wanna know any of that crap," growled Jack, as Alfred returned with the bread and soup. Jack picked up the bread and began picking off bits of the crust and eating it. "Sounds dumb."

"Don't you think your mother would have wanted you to be a well educated young man, Jack?" asked Martha, gently.

"I'm sure Mary would have," said Thomas, nodding. "I certainly want both my sons to be."

"Why? You aren't," retorted Jack. "Or you would have known not to knock up a married woman, and saved us all a lotta trouble."

"What does knock up mean, Daddy?" asked Bruce.

"Nothing, Bruce," snapped Thomas, and an awkward silence reigned for a few moments.

"Is your room comfortable, Jack?" asked Martha at last.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, it's…big. Dunno what you need that much space for."

"Well, we can buy you things to fill it with," said his father. "Toys, games, books, whatever a boy your age wants."

"I don't want anything from you, Mr. Wayne," muttered Jack. "I've told you. Except…"

He paused. "What is it, Jack?" said Thomas. "Don't be afraid to ask me anything."

Jack nodded. "That…trick you pulled today, with the cops. Just telling 'em you were taking me away, and them just letting you. Does that happen a lot?"

Thomas and Martha shared a look. "Well, there are certain benefits to having wealth and influence…" began Thomas.

"No, I mean…you got power over the police," said Jack, slowly. "Does that mean you…can do stuff that's illegal?"

"I hope you don't want to do anything illegal, Jack," said Thomas, gently. "I'd like my sons to be people of good character…"

"I don't mean I wanna do a crime and get away with murder," interrupted Jack. "Although…I guess I kinda…just did," he added, slowly. "I mean…I wanna know the stuff the police know, that they don't tell regular people. I wanna know any info they got on Joe Chill and his whereabouts. I wanna find him."

Thomas was silent. "Jack, I understand your feelings and your desire for revenge…" he began.

"No, you don't!" snapped Jack. "You don't know anything about what I feel! You never had to see your own mother like that…"

He choked on a sob, burying his face in his hands. Martha rose quickly, going over to soothe him. "I don't want your pity!" he snapped, shoving her away and wiping his eyes. "I just wanna find the guy who helped kill my mother!"

"Jack, sweetheart," whispered Martha, sitting down next to him. "Do you think your mother would want that? Do you think she'd want to see her son murder someone? Or do you think she'd rather he just lived a good life from now on, a life she could be proud of?"

"I knew Mary very well, Jack," said Thomas, joining his wife. "And I think she'd like her son to be the best man he can be. A good man."

"Does a good man see the people he loves suffer and let their tormentor get away with it?" demanded Jack. "Doesn't seem very good to me."

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll discuss this again later, ok, Jack?" he asked, gently. "When you're feeling a little better, and things don't seem so overwhelming. You've had a big day, after all, and you must be tired. Why don't you head to bed? And Bruce, it's past your bedtime as well," he said, glancing at the clock. "All the excitement at meeting your big brother must have exhausted you."

"Nah, I'm not tired," said Bruce.

"You always say that," said Thomas, smiling at him. "Alfred, get Bruce ready for bed, please. Jack, in your bathroom there's a toothbrush and toothpaste and…"

"Great, I'm sure I'll find 'em," muttered Jack, standing up and storming away from the table without another word.

After Alfred had given Bruce a bath and brushed his teeth, Martha came in to tuck him into bed and read him a story. "Does Jack want to listen?" asked Bruce.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's so thoughtful of you to offer," said Martha, smiling at him. "But no, I don't think he does."

"Do you think his Mommy didn't read him stories?" asked Bruce, horrified.

Martha smiled sadly. "No, sweetheart, I think she did," she murmured, kissing his forehead. "And that's probably why he doesn't want to listen."

"His Mommy's dead, isn't she?" asked Bruce.

"That's right, sweetheart," she replied, nodding.

"What does that mean?" asked Bruce, frowning. "When somebody's dead?"

"Well…it means he won't see her again for a very long time," said Martha, gently. "That she's gone to heaven."

"Oh," said Bruce. "So he'll only see her again if he lives a good life, and goes to heaven too?"

"Yes, sweetheart," agreed Martha.

"Then why would he wanna kill a guy?" asked Bruce, puzzled. "That's bad. And if he's bad, he won't ever see his Mommy again."

Martha was silent. "Sometimes, when you're feeling hurt…good and bad are very hard to distinguish," she murmured. "Maybe you'll understand better when you get older. But you're too young right now to worry about things like that."

"Ok," said Bruce, shrugging. He listened to the story with rapt attention, and when it was over, gave his mother an extra big hug. "I'm glad you haven't gone to heaven and left me alone, Mommy," he whispered.

"Me too, sweetie," she whispered, kissing him. "Me too."


	4. Chapter 4

"I really don't think you can blame me for forgetting about this, Martha," said Thomas, as he checked his watch. "I've been trying to get Jack settled in and organizing every detail of his new life…"

"I'm not blaming you, dear," replied Martha. "I just feel bad for being tardy. We should have been at the Dents twenty minutes ago."

"We'll explain the situation when we get there – I'm sure they'll understand," replied Thomas. "Alfred, how's it coming?" he called up the stairs.

"Master Bruce is nearly dressed, sir!" called Alfred.

"Jack, you ok?" called Thomas. There was no response. "Jack?" he repeated, climbing the stairs and knocking on the door to his room. He opened it to see Jack curled up in bed, staring out the window.

"Jack, didn't I ask you to get dressed and ready, son?" asked Thomas, gently.

"I don't wanna go," he muttered.

"But Jack, the Dents are lovely people," said Thomas. "And they'll be so pleased to meet you. Their son's a charming young man…"

"I don't wanna meet anyone," he interrupted.

"Well, have you considered that I might want everyone to meet you?" he asked, sitting down next to him. "That I might want everyone to see what a fine, upstanding young man my son is? And your mother wouldn't want you to hide yourself away from everyone forever, would she?"

Jack sighed but sat up. "That's my boy!" said Thomas, hugging him. "Now c'mon, get dressed and see how nice that lovely, new suit looks on you! Nothing makes a man look handsomer than a personally tailored suit."

Jack grudgingly pulled on the new suit and looked at his reflection in the mirror. "I think I look pretty ridiculous," he muttered as Thomas placed a flower in his button hole.

"Nonsense – you look incredibly handsome!" exclaimed Thomas. "You'd only look ridiculous if you were wearing…I don't know…a purple suit or something. Now come on, let's show Martha."

He led his son down the stairs where Martha was fussing over Bruce's hair. "Doesn't Jack look handsome, Martha?" asked Thomas.

She looked up and smiled. "He certainly does! You'd look even more handsome if you combed your hair back, don't you think, Jack?"

He shrugged, running his fingers through his dark hair and smoothing it back. "Yes, just perfect!" said Martha, stepping back to look at them. "What a handsome pair of boys! The Dents are going to be so impressed! But we're already late, so into the car, both of you."

"You'll like Harvey," said Bruce to Jack as they drove. "He's my best friend. And Selina will probably be there, but she's a girl, so you'll wanna stay away from her so you don't get cooties."

"Girls don't have cooties, Bruce, for the last time," said Martha, sternly. "Selina Kyle is a very sweet little girl, and she likes you a lot. You should stop being so mean to her."

"Will there be anyone my age there, or will I be hanging out with children?" asked Jack.

"I don't know, Jack – we'll just have to wait and see," said Thomas. "It is Harvey's birthday party, so I imagine most of the people there will be his friends, but you never know. His parents will probably invite some colleagues and friends too, and they might have older children."

"Great," sighed Jack, staring out the window. "I can't wait to see what a rich kid's birthday party is like."

It was as ridiculous as he had imagined. Emily and Henry Dent had spared no expense to celebrate their son Harvey's ninth birthday, and the huge backyard attached to their mansion was decorated accordingly. There was a long table with every kind of food, a giant birthday cake, and an ice sculpture. There was a bouncy house, pony rides, and a birthday clown who could make balloon animals. But there was very little to interest a fifteen-year-old boy, thought Jack glumly, as he looked around while the Waynes were greeting the Dents.

"I'd like you to meet my son, Jack," said Thomas, pushing Jack forward. "He's only recently been reunited with our family after his mother's tragic and untimely death."

"How horrible for you, Jack," said Mrs. Dent, sympathetically. "We're certainly very pleased to meet you, and Harvey is so grateful you decided to come, aren't you, Harvey?"

"I certainly am," agreed Harvey Dent, smiling and extending his hand. "It's so nice to meet you, Jack."

"Er…yeah…likewise," said Jack, feeling awkward shaking hands with a nine-year-old. "Happy birthday. Uh…excuse me," he said, heading for the drinks table. He looked around carefully to make sure no one could see him, and then grabbed a glass of champagne, knocking it back in one gulp. He grabbed a second one and wandered off, trying to find some place to be alone.

He thought he had found it, taking a seat around the back of the house, but a few moments later, his solitude was interrupted by the birthday clown, who ducked behind the house and lit a cigarette.

"Christ, these kids are gonna wear me out," he muttered to himself. He noticed Jack sitting nearby and frowned. "Uh…sorry, kid, you don't mind if I smoke, do ya? Only I'm on my break and…"

"No, don't worry about it," interrupted Jack, sipping from his glass. "Got a spare?" he asked at last.

"You old enough to smoke?" asked the clown, skeptically.

"Ain't the first time I've done it," retorted Jack.

The clown shrugged. "Well, I ain't your father," he muttered, handing Jack a cigarette and lighting it for him. Jack exhaled and they smoked in silence.

"Must be a rough gig," said Jack. "No offense, but I don't like clowns. Can't imagine why anyone would wanna be one."

The clown laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, tell me about it," he muttered. "The rich kids are the worst. Spoiled bunch of brats, the lot of them. No offense," he said, nodding at Jack's suit.

"None taken," retorted Jack. "I ain't always been a rich kid. Don't really like to think of myself as one now."

"You don't sound like one," agreed the clown. "Must be a lucky kid to have ended up rich."

"I ain't lucky," muttered Jack, exhaling another cloud of smoke irritably. "Believe me, I'd rather be back in the gutter than have to put up with crap like this for the rest of my life. It's all…phony and fake," he said, nodding at the party. "Everyone's pretending to be all happy and charming, when really they're no better than the people I used to deal with in the rough areas of Gotham. It…just feels like a buncha freaks wearing masks."

The clown snorted. "Welcome to life, kid," he retorted, taking another drag on his cigarette. "That's all everyone is. Freaks wearing masks."

"Clown!" said a voice at their feet. They looked down to see that a baby girl had crawled over to them. She had wide, blue eyes and golden curls, and a huge smile that beamed up at them. "Clown!" she repeated, tugging on the hem of the clown's pants.

"Aw Christ, not this one again!" muttered the clown. "She's been following me around all day! Do me a favor and distract her while I finish my break, huh? She's driving me nuts," he muttered, storming away.

"Clown!" cried the girl after him, frowning. "Clown!" She burst into tears and began wailing, and Jack stamped out his cigarette as he bent down to pick her up, shushing her gently and rocking her.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's ok, sweetie," he said. "It's ok. Look what I got for you," he said, pulling the flower out of his buttonhole.

The girl beamed again. "Clown!" she cried happily, taking it from him. "Clown, clown, clown," she said, sticking the flower into her mouth and chomping on the petals.

"Yeah, that…probably won't hurt you…" said Jack, slowly.

"Harley!" cried a voice, as a very frazzled looking man rounded the corner. "There you are! God, sweetie, I told you not to worry Daddy by running off like that!"

"Clown," retorted the girl, as if that explained it.

The man sighed. "You take your eyes off her for two seconds, and she's gone," he said, smiling at Jack. "Who knew anyone could crawl that fast? And she's got a bit of weird obsession – probably the only girl in the world who chases clowns. Thanks for not letting her wander too far," he said, taking the baby back from Jack. She instantly began wailing.

"Clown!" she cried, holding out her arms to Jack. "Clown, clown, clown!"

"That's not a clown, sweetness, that's a boy," said the man.

"Yeah, my name's Jack," said Jack, smiling at the baby. "Can you say Jack?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Clown," she retorted, firmly.

"Guess not," he laughed, smiling at her. "She's an adorable baby, Mr…"

"Quinzel. George Quinzel," said the man, shaking Jack's hand. "I work in Mr. Dent's office. Not that I think he'd recognize me if he tripped over me, but he just invited everyone with kids in his office to this thing. I figured Harley here might enjoy it," he said, smiling at his daughter. "Didn't know there'd be clowns though."

"Clown!" she repeated, clapping her hands happily.

"No, why don't you introduce yourself properly to Jack?" said Mr. Quinzel. "You can say your name, can't you, Harley?"

"Clown," she retorted, adamantly.

"No, c'mon, sweetness, say your name," encouraged Mr. Quinzel.

She screwed her face up. "Harween Fwances Quinzel," she said at last.

"That's Harleen Frances Quinzel," corrected Mr. Quinzel, grinning. "But close enough, baby," he said, kissing his daughter.

"What a very pretty name!" said Jack, smiling at Harley as he picked up his champagne glass and took a sip. "Nice to meet you, Harleen Frances Quinzel," he said, toasting her.

"Clown," she repeated, smiling back.

"Jack, there you are, I've been looking for…" began Thomas, rounding the corner. He saw Jack's glass of champagne and his eyes narrowed. "You're not old enough to drink, Jack!" he said, snatching it away from him. "Surely you could have seen he was underage, Mr…"

"Uh…Quinzel," stammered Mr. Quinzel. "I'm sorry, I didn't…uh…"

"It's not that big a deal, Mr. Quinzel," snapped Jack, glaring at Thomas. "I've done worse, after all."

Harley relieved the tension in the air by popping the flower into her mouth again. "Clown," she said contentedly, munching on it.

"No, don't eat that, honey," said Mr. Quinzel, taking it from her. "We'll find you some cake if you're hungry. Uh…nice to have met you, Jack," he said, carrying Harley away.

"Yeah, you too!" called Jack after him.

"Honestly, Jack, if I can't trust you to associate with responsible adults, why don't you go hang out with Bruce?" snapped Thomas, dragging him back around the front of the house and over to where a group of children were gathered. "You kids can let Jack play, can't you?" asked Thomas.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne!" said Harvey Dent, smiling. The moment Thomas left them, Harvey's smile dropped. "Hey, poor kid!" he jeered.

Jack had been glaring after Thomas, but turned slowly at this. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing – just wanted to see if you'd respond to that," said Harvey, grinning. "What are you even doing here, poor kid?"

"He's my brother now, Harvey," spoke up Bruce. "He's not poor anymore."

"You know what my Daddy says?" said Harvey. "My Daddy says that you don't stop being poor just because you get money. He says you can tell when people are born rich, because they got class, and when people are born poor, because they don't. Is that true, poor kid?" he asked, smiling.

"Your Daddy probably wouldn't know class if it bit him in the ass, so yeah, he probably thinks it's true," agreed Jack.

Selina Kyle had been trying to get Bruce to take an interest in her cat stuffed animal, but now clapped her hands over her ears. "Bad word!" she cried. "Only bad people say bad words!"

"Don't be such a girl, Selina!" snapped Harvey. "Just beat it if you're gonna be lame," he said, grabbing the stuffed animal from her and ripping its head off. She burst into tears and ran away.

"You're a two-faced little brat, ain't ya?" growled Jack.

"Ain't ya?" laughed Harvey. "Is that the way poor people talk?"

"I thought it was funny too, Harvey, but I guess it isn't," said Bruce. "And you shouldn't laugh at my brother. My Mommy says it's important to be nice to him. So if you don't do that, I'm gonna tell your Mommy."

Harvey grinned. "At least I still got a Mommy," he said.

Jack didn't even try to control himself. With a roar, he punched Harvey in the face, knocking him to the ground and hitting him repeatedly. Harvey's screams and the ensuing commotion caused everyone to come running, and Jack was pulled off him with some difficulty, still fighting to get back to him.

An ambulance was called for Harvey as Jack was dragged back to the car. He was joined a moment later by the rest of the Wayne family, and an enraged Henry Dent. Jack didn't hear all the words Dent said to his father, but he heard the final ones.

"…don't know what possessed you to think that disgusting excuse for a boy was ready to mix with decent, civilized people! Once gutter filth, always gutter filth, that's just the way it is! On your head be it, Wayne, trying to transform that thing into a decent human being, but that…that monster will never, ever be one of us!"

Jack didn't say a word the entire journey back. He didn't care what the likes of Dent thought about him, and he didn't have any desire to mix with decent, civilized people if that was what they were like. His only regret was not hitting Harvey harder.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had headed to his room the moment they returned home, and he stayed there for what seemed like hours until a knock came on his door. He opened it to see Alfred standing outside.

"Master Jack, Mr. Wayne would like a word in the drawing room," he said, in his usual calm, unperturbed tone.

Jack nodded, following him downstairs. Bruce had been put to bed, and it was just Thomas and Martha waiting for him in the room.

"Sit down, Jack," said Thomas, gesturing to a chair.

Jack obeyed, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the ground. "Do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself?" asked Thomas.

He shrugged. "Wish I'd hit him harder," he muttered.

Thomas sighed. "I was hoping for an apology, actually…"

"I ain't got nothing to apologize for!" snapped Jack. "That kid's a little brat! It's about time he got the crap beat outta him! He'd clearly been asking for it for a long time!"

Thomas stood up, pacing. "Jack, decent, civilized people don't go around beating each other up," he muttered. "That's never a way to solve anything."

"Shut Harvey up pretty good, though," retorted Jack. "And I bet he'll think twice about insulting people in the future."

"Jack, I am trying to be patient and understanding, considering your circumstances," snapped Thomas. "But you are trying my patience to its limit…"

"Jack, please, we just want to help you," said Martha, gently. "We know you're going through a very difficult time, and we'd like to support you through it as much as we possibly can. But we've been talking and…we think we might not be entirely qualified to give you the help you need. And we'd like to get you the best possible help we can…"

"What Martha is saying is that we think it advisable that you start seeing a therapist," interrupted Thomas. "To help you deal with your behavioral issues, among other things. We've made some calls, and we'll be taking you to a session at Arkham Asylum tomorrow morning. Hopefully with time you'll be able to make some progress, and things won't seem as bad to you anymore…"

Jack stood up. "You think me finding my mother's murdered, violated corpse is not going to seem as bad to me just because I talk with a shrink about it a few times a week?" he muttered. "This isn't something I can talk about and make better! The only thing that would help even a little is if I find the man who killed her and make him pay…"

"Vengeance doesn't solve anything, Jack!" snapped Thomas. "So get that thought out of your head right now! I will not support letting some ridiculous vendetta take over your life and leading you on the path to self-destruction…"

"Then you can't ever have loved my mother very much, if you're happy to let the man who did that to her get away with it!" roared Jack.

"Jack, don't you think your mother would want you to get better?" asked Martha, gently. "Don't you think she'd want you to be happy?"

"Yes," murmured Jack. "But I won't ever be happy until I see her murderer dead. Carved up with a smile on his face, the way I did with Napier. Then we can all be happy together."

"Jack! Come back here! Jack!" shouted Thomas as he stormed from the room. Martha lay a hand on his arm.

"Let him go, Thomas," she murmured. "We'll see how he feels after talking with the therapist tomorrow. I'm sure it'll help him."

"I certainly hope you're right," muttered Thomas. "I don't want to discipline him too harshly because of what he's been through. But I can't let him get away with murder. I'm his father. I have to be the man his other father never was, a man who can shape him into a good man."

He turned to look at his wife. "It…it can't be too late for that, can it, Martha?" he asked, quietly. "Jack can still be a good man, can't he?"

"Of course he can, Thomas," murmured Martha, kissing him. "And he will be. He will be."

…

Bruce Wayne had drifted off to sleep, but awoke in the middle of the night to hear what sounded like crying coming from down the hall. He climbed out of bed, opening the door to his room and tiptoeing down the corridor until he pushed open the door to Jack's room.

His brother lay curled up on his bed, crying into his pillow. "Are you ok?" whispered Bruce.

Jack sniffed. "Yeah," he muttered. "Go back to sleep, kid."

"You're crying," said Bruce.

"I ain't crying!" snapped Jack.

Bruce didn't argue, even though he clearly heard and saw his older brother crying. Instead Bruce climbed into bed next to him and hugged him tightly. Jack sobbed, embracing him in return and crying into his shoulder. Bruce shushed him and let him sob until they both fell asleep, holding onto each other as if nothing on earth could part them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fifteen Years Later**

"He said he'd be here, Dad," said Bruce Wayne, looking around the crowded ballroom of Wayne Manor. "We can't cut the cake until he's here."

"I'm not sure why you expect him to keep his promise," said Thomas. "Your brother's not exactly the most reliable man, as you know."

"He'll be here," repeated Bruce. "He wouldn't break his promise to me."

Thomas sighed. He admired his younger son's faith in his older brother, but as his father, he had seen very little evidence of that faith being a good idea. Jack had continued to be a troublesome young man, even after years of therapy. His anger issues and resentment toward the world had not improved, and it seemed like he did everything he could to disappoint the expectations of his father. He had dropped out of school at seventeen, and left home at the age of eighteen, despite the protests of his family.

Whenever his father or step-mother tried to call or get in contact, he was elusive. But whenever his brother called, Jack would always answer. Maybe that was the reason for Bruce's faith in him – Bruce seemed to be the only member of his family Jack respected and cared for. It seemed like he was always there for Bruce, the only person in the world he didn't like to disappoint.

Thomas checked his watch. "Can I at least begin the toast?" he asked Bruce.

He nodded. "Yeah, go ahead. I'm not expecting a short speech from you anyway, Dad," he added, grinning.

Thomas smiled back, clapping his younger son on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son," he murmured. "I hope you know that."

"I do, Dad," replied Bruce, nodding. "Of course I do."

Thomas held up a glass and tapped a spoon against it. "Can I have your attention, please, everyone?" he called. "We're just waiting a few minutes to cut the cake, but I'd like to make a short toast to my son, if I may. As you all know, he's decided to follow in my footsteps and head off to medical school, and I, for one, couldn't be prouder of his decision. Nor could I be prouder of all the hard work he's put in during his past four years of college…"

"He partied harder than he worked, Mr. Wayne – I was there!" called Harvey Dent, grinning at Bruce. Everyone laughed.

"Well, be that as it may, he still managed to maintain decent enough grades to be admitted to medical school here in Gotham, and I am pleased to announce that as a result of this, I'm donating funds to build a new wing at the university which will bear our family name," continued Thomas. "Bruce's attendance will be continuing a long Wayne family tradition of public service and social improvement, and I'm certain he, like every member of the Wayne family before or since, will be a credit to our name…"

"That's very kind of you to say, Mr. Wayne," said a soft voice by the door. "But we both know it's not true."

Everyone turned to see who had spoken, and saw a thin, pale man dressed in a shabby suit, bright, green eyes burning with a fierce intensity as he smoked on a cigarette. He was regarded nervously by everyone in the room, except Bruce, who beamed and raced over to him.

"Jack, I knew you'd come!" he cried, embracing his brother tightly.

"How you doing, kid?" asked Jack, hugging his brother in return and smiling at him. "I hear congratulations are in order. Gonna be Dr. Wayne, huh?"

"Well, hopefully!" laughed Bruce. "I've been accepted, but I still have to make the grades!"

"Oh, I'm sure Thomas Wayne's favorite son doesn't have to worry about pesky things like grades," said Jack, smiling at his father. "They're not gonna deny a medical degree to a man whose family donated money for a whole new wing. We know how these things really work, don't we, Mr. Wayne?" he asked. "Whoever has the dough makes the rules, right?"

Thomas forced a smile. "Good to see you again too, Jack," he said, embracing him awkwardly. "Everyone, you remember my son Jack?"

"A few of you definitely do," chuckled Jack, smiling at Harvey Dent, who glared back at him. "Hello, Mrs. Wayne," he said, kissing his step-mother's cheek.

"How have you been doing, Jack?" asked Martha, in genuine concern. "You look thin. Have you been eating?"

"Please don't try to mother me, Mrs. Wayne," said Jack, his smile looking forced. "You know I react very badly to it. I don't want or need another mother, thank you."

"Jack, c'mon, there are some people I want you to meet," said Bruce, leading him to a small group in the corner. "You…uh…remember Harvey Dent?" he said.

"How's your face, kid?" asked Jack, grinning at him as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Fine, thanks," snapped Harvey.

"Harvey's heading off to law school this semester," said Bruce.

"Oh, just what the world needs – more lawyers!" said Jack, smiling. "Got a joke for you, kid. What do you call a boat full of lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start!"

He laughed. No one else did. "And…uh…this is my girlfriend, Selina Kyle," said Bruce, gesturing at a very attractive young woman.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," said Jack, bowing and kissing her hand. "My brother has very good taste. I can certainly see what he sees in you," he added, grinning at her.

"Uh…thanks," said Selina, looking uncomfortable and clutching Bruce's arm.

Jack looked around at the group, smiling. "What is this, a funeral?" he laughed, heading over to the drinks table. "I thought it was a party! Why doesn't anyone look happy? Nobody here has anything to be unhappy about, right? No problem money can't solve!" he chuckled.

"Jack, how much have you had to drink already?" asked Thomas, gently.

"I dunno, Mr. Wayne, does it matter?" he demanded. "It puts me in a good mood, and helps me forget. And I gotta be in a good mood for my little bro's party. Last thing anybody wants to see at a party is unsmiling faces."

"What have you been doing with yourself lately, Jack?" asked Martha, kindly.

He shrugged. "What am I always doing with myself, Mrs. Wayne?" he asked, sipping the champagne. "Hunting. Finding the bastard who killed my mother. That's all I've been doing for fifteen years."

"Are you working?" she asked, gently. "How are you supporting yourself?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wayne, I don't need your money!" he chuckled. "Haven't taken a red cent of my father's fortune, ain't that the truth, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, smiling at Thomas.

"Yes. I wish you would, Jack," said Thomas. "I don't like to think of my son living in dire circumstances."

"There's always a home for you here, Jack," said Martha.

"Thanks, Mrs. Wayne, but I don't like leeching off other people," growled Jack. "I'll find my own way. I always have."

"Letting your parents help you out isn't leeching," said Thomas. "And we'd be so happy to help you…"

"Happy to help me find and kill my mother's murderer?" interrupted Jack.

Thomas shook his head slowly. "You know we can't support that…"

"Then I don't want or need your support," he snapped. "Save your money for the kid who deserves it," he said, nodding at Bruce.

The phone in Jack's pocket rang suddenly. "Excuse me," he said, heading off to a corner and answering it.

"How do you put up with him, Bruce?" sighed Harvey, taking another drink.

"Yeah, he seems like a real pain in the ass," agreed Selina.

"He's my brother," replied Bruce, shrugging. "He's been through a lot. And he's never been anything but nice to me. It's great to have a family member I can talk to about real stuff, stuff I can't always discuss with my parents, y'know. And Jack's a great person to talk to. He's a good listener, and he always puts a funny spin on even the most awkward situations. I dunno how to explain it, exactly. But he's my brother, and I love him."

"Hey, kiddo, I gotta go," said Jack, hanging up the phone and approaching Bruce. "Something's come up – bit of an emergency."

"An emergency?" repeated Bruce, frowning. "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, nothing for you to worry about," said Jack. "But I gotta go handle it. Thanks for inviting me and see you around, huh?"

"Oh…yeah, ok," said Bruce, disappointed.

"And congrats again," said Jack, hugging him. "Glad one of us can be a success. You stay outta trouble, ok?"

"Ok, Jack," said Bruce.

"Nice meeting you, Harvey, Selina. Catch you later, Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Wayne," said Jack, tipping his hat to them.

"Yeah, I don't see it," agreed Selina as he left. "How can anybody care about a guy like that?"

"I told you, Selina – he's my brother and I love him," murmured Bruce.

"What sort of emergency could he possibly have?" asked Harvey. "What does he do?"

"I…uh…dunno," said Bruce, slowly. "Jack never talks about his business in great detail. He's very dedicated to it, though, whatever it is. Committed guy, my brother."

"Guess that's a family trait," murmured Selina, kissing him.

Bruce laughed, kissing her back. He tried to enjoy the rest of his party without thinking too much about Jack, or his business.


	7. Chapter 7

"He's in here, boss," said Chuckie Sol as Jack opened the door to a filthy warehouse.

"Thanks, Chuckie," muttered Jack, stamping out his cigarette. "Keep watch with Buzz, will ya? I want a word alone with Mr. Stamper."

He entered the room and shut the door to see a man tied up and lying in a heap on the floor. He was battered and bruised and appeared to be sleeping.

Jack kicked him hard in the chest. "Wake up, Mr. Stamper," he hissed.

The man moaned and opened his eyes, which widened in terror as he saw Jack standing in front of him.

"N…no, look, I swear, I dunno anything about him!" the man cried, terrified. "I worked for him once, twice, a long time ago, and I ain't seen him since!"

"Relax, Tim, I ain't even asked you any questions yet," said Jack, smiling. "Wanna smoke?" he asked, holding out a cigarette to him.

"Uh…uh…sure, thanks," stammered Tim, confused by this apparent generosity. Jack put the cigarette to Tim's lips and lit it for him, and took it away after he'd had a few puffs.

"Feel a bit better, huh?" Jack asked, kindly.

"Yeah…sorta," agreed Tim.

"Good. Cause I want you to be feeling in tip top shape before I break you," said Jack, still smiling. "Unless you wanna tell me where Joe Chill is now, of course, and then I'll just shoot you in the head nice and quick."

Tim began whimpering. "Please, I swear, I don't know…"

"My sources say you do," interrupted Jack, leaning forward dangerously. "And I always trust my sources."

He hauled Tim to his feet, taking his tied wrists and throwing them over a hook attached to the warehouse ceiling. He began to crank this up, chatting to Tim the whole time.

"You wanna know why I became a criminal, Tim?" he asked, casually, not waiting for a response. "Because the only way to get things done in this world is through illegal means. And if you're trying to find a bad guy, sometimes you gotta become a bad guy too. Sometimes you gotta find sources close to this bad guy, associate with people who might know 'im, make connections with 'em, and the only way to do that is to be just as dishonest and disreputable as they are. You gotta think like a bad guy to catch a bad guy – you gotta know all his games and secrets and tricks, and the only way to know 'em is to practice 'em. It's all a matter of business, really. Just like your torture's gonna be. I don't take any pleasure in this kind of thing, believe me. But I just gotta find Joe Chill. And if the law won't help you, sometimes you just gotta take matters into your own hands."

Jack picked up a crowbar and tapped it into the palm of his hands. Tim was hanging eye-level with him, and Jack smiled at him. "I'm sure you understand. Nothing personal."

He swung the crowbar so it collided hard with Tim's face with a satisfying crack. Tim howled in pain as blood began pouring from his nose. "Now tell me, dammit!" roared Jack, suddenly furious. "Where is Joe Chill?!"

"I don't know!" screamed Tim. "I swear I don't know! The…the rumor is he's back in Gotham, but I don't know where!"

"Oh, I think you do," hissed Jack. "He's contacted you, hasn't he? How?" he demanded, swinging the bar again so it collided with Tim's kneecaps.

"He…he called me, but…it was from a payphone!" shrieked Tim. "He didn't tell me where he was hiding! He only told me he was back, and that he'd be contacting me again soon with a meeting place!"

"And did he?" demanded Jack, hitting Tim in the ribs now. Tim broke down sobbing again. "Did he?!" repeated Jack, smashing the bar against his body repeatedly. For what seemed like ages, the torture continued with Jack's violent beatings, and Tim's screams and sobs.

At last, Tim cried, "I was meant to meet him at a diner! But when I got there, he was gone!"

"What diner?" demanded Jack.

"Promise…promise you'll stop beating me and I will!" gasped Tim. "Promise you'll let me go!"

Jack's hand reached out and seized Tim around the throat. "I'll let you go, Tim," he hissed. "Now tell me the name of the diner!"

"Mandy's," gasped Tim. "Now please…"

"Let you go?" suggested Jack. "Whatever you say, Tim."

He pulled out a gun and shot Tim in the face. "Enjoy your freedom," he muttered, storming out of the room to change out of his blood-stained suit.

…

Jack immediately headed to Mandy's diner after he had changed, which was a typical place of its kind located in a reputable part of town, not too far from the university. Which was good, thought Jack, as he entered the diner – it meant that suspicion wouldn't be raised by people asking questions.

He took a seat at the counter and pretended to study the menu while his eyes roved around the room.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" asked the waitress, coming over to him.

"Just a cup of coffee, thanks, sweetheart," he said, still looking around.

"Sure thing," she said, leaving him alone again.

Joe Chill wasn't here. He hadn't really expected him to be - it wasn't likely he was a regular customer - but maybe someone in here would recognize him and know his whereabouts. Otherwise he'd have to start all over again, tracking new informants and pressuring information out of them. And by the time he did, it was likely Chill would have skipped town again.

"One coffee," said the waitress, placing it in front of him. "Cream and sugar?"

"Just black is fine for me, sweetheart," he said, putting down the menu and rubbing his eyes.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, just…got a lotta stuff on my mind," he muttered

She laughed. "Tell me about it," she said. "I just graduated from high school, and I'm starting medical school in a couple weeks. Talk about nerve racking!"

"Yeah, never cared much for school myself," said Jack, sipping his coffee.

"I figure if I don't wanna be stuck working in a diner the rest of my life, I need to start improving myself," she replied. "And I've wanted to be a psychiatrist for as long as I can remember."

Jack snorted. "Don't waste your time, kid. I've been to see a hundred of 'em, and every single one was a useless quack."

"What did you go to see them for?" she asked.

"My father took me," he replied. "Thought it would help me with some issues. It didn't."

"What issues?" she asked.

He glared up at her. "You meant to get this personal with your customers?"

She shrugged. "Sorry, I'm just curious. Working in a diner is great practice for being a psychiatrist – you get to meet all kinds of interesting people. And if I meet an interesting person with real issues that I can talk to, that's even better practice."

"Well, I don't wanna be a case for you to practice on, sweetheart," he snapped. "Why doncha get back to work?"

She was silent, and then went to go serve other customers. Jack tried to think up his next plan of action, sipping the coffee slowly and lost in his own thoughts.

"Don't you ever smile?" asked the waitress suddenly.

"Don't have much to smile about, kid," he retorted. "Don't you ever stop talking?"

"It's called customer service," snapped the waitress.

"No, it's called annoying the customer!" he retorted.

"Well, you don't have to come back!" she snapped.

"Don't worry – I won't!" he retorted. He took a deep breath. "I'm actually just here because I'm looking for someone. Maybe you've seen him around."

"Maybe," she agreed, wiping down the counter. "Why are you looking for him? Is he a friend of yours?"

"No. I just really need to find him," he replied. "It's a matter of life and death."

"Yeah?" she said, curious. "What does he look like?"

Jack described Joe Chill to the best of his abilities. She thought for a moment and nodded. "I think he was in here last week. Good tipper. And he didn't mind me chatting to him."

"Was that the only time you've seen him, or is he a regular customer?" asked Jack.

She shrugged. "I've seen him a couple times. Wouldn't call him regular, but I wouldn't be surprised if he dropped in suddenly. So maybe you'll be coming back after all if you're so desperate to find him, even if you don't like the customer service here."

He laughed despite himself. "You got spirit, I'll say that for you, kid," he said, holding out his hand to her. "I'm Jack."

"Harley," she said, shaking his hand and pointing to her name-tag. "If you wanna complain to my manager."

"I don't," he replied. "In fact, I'm prepared to offer you a very good tip if you do a little favor for me."

"What favor?" she asked.

He wrote a number down on his napkin. "If I give you my number, can you give me a call if that guy comes in?" he asked, handing it to her.

"Not unless you tell me why you're looking for him," she retorted.

He shrugged. "I'm gonna kill him," he said.

She stared at him, shocked. "What?" she gasped.

"I'm gonna kill him," he repeated, calmly. "I've been searching for him for fifteen years so I can kill him."

She laughed awkwardly. "That's…that's a joke, right?"

"Do I look like I'm the kinda guy who enjoys jokes?" asked Jack.

"But…why…why would you wanna kill a guy?" she gasped.

"Same reason I was forced to see a shrink for years," retorted Jack. "Because this guy did something real bad to me once. Something that destroyed my life. So I'm gonna destroy his. That's justice, kiddo. You're probably too young to understand that, but it's true."

"I…I hope you realize that I…can't do what you want," she stammered. "I can't be responsible for someone's death…"

"Well then, don't worry about it," he said, shrugging. "I'll have some guys of mine keeping an eye on this joint and they'll let me know if he comes in. If he does, I suggest you get outta here quick before the bullets start flying."

"How do you know I won't warn him and tell him to leave?" she asked.

He studied her. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" he asked. "Not when he deserves to die."

"I don't think anyone deserves…" she began.

"My father sent me to a shrink after this guy helped brutally rape and murder my mother," interrupted Jack. "I found her body. I was fifteen. I killed the other guy, who I used to think was my father, but this guy got away. I've spent every waking moment of my life trying to find him again. I'm not going to let him get away again. Don't try to help him get away again. A man like that doesn't deserve your help."

She gazed at him in pity. "I'm so sorry…" she began.

"And do you know what the shrink said about why I was so upset?" he continued. "I told him everything about what happened, and do you know what he said? He said my anger derived from an Oedipus complex. He thought I was upset because I hadn't been able to sleep with my mother, even though I murdered a father figure. He thought I was frustrated at only acting out one half of my fantasy. That's when I gave up on shrinks. Don't waste your life twisting people's real pain into your own stupid theories. You won't help anyone. Least of all your patient."

He drained his cup and stood up, throwing some bills down on the counter. "See ya around, kid," he muttered, heading for the door. Harley watched him go, staring after him in pity. She held the napkin with his number for a moment longer, and then slid it into her pocket.


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce Wayne looked around the huge lecture theater for an empty seat. It was like the first day of school all over again, he thought, as he stared at row after row of unfamiliar faces. He finally saw a vacant space next to pretty blonde girl with thick, round glasses, who looked even more nervous than he did.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

"Oh…sure," she said, scooting over some more. "I mean, no, of course I don't mind, that is…"

"I know what you meant," he said, sitting down next to her and smiling. "I'm Bruce Wayne."

She stared at him. "Bruce Wayne…the billionaire?" she stammered.

"Well, that's not usually how I introduce myself!" he laughed. "But yeah, that's right."

"Oh…wow," she stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you – trying to get my medical degree," he replied.

"I just thought if I was as rich as you, I wouldn't really wanna be a doctor!" she laughed. "Not sure I'd wanna work at all."

"Well, a person's gotta do something useful with his life," said Bruce, shrugging. "My family has never believed in just coasting through life, even if you are blessed with a lot of money. You have to give back where you can, and use your fortune to help the less fortunate."

"That's a very generous sentiment," she said. "Still, it must be amazing to be as rich as you. You sure wouldn't have to put up with all the tedious crap I gotta do."

"What kinda tedious crap do you have to do?" laughed Bruce.

She shrugged. "I work at Mandy's Diner, for a start."

"Are you Mandy?" he asked.

"Yeah, I've never heard that one before," she sighed.

"I only ask because I didn't catch your name," he added, grinning.

"Oh, sorry, it's Harleen Quinzel," she said. "But call me Harley. Everyone does."

"So why do you have to work at a diner?" he asked.

She stared at him. "Uh…so I can earn money to pay for this degree," she said. "It ain't cheap, y'know."

"I know," laughed Bruce. "It cost my father an entire new medical wing! But I didn't realize it cost everyone else that much."

"Yeah, it'll put me in debt for years, even with my waitressing job," sighed Harley. "But I gotta better my future somehow, and ironically getting into student debt is one of the ways to do it. My Dad can't afford to build a new medical wing, or help me out at all, really. He and Mom are barely making ends meet as it is, after Mr. Dent fired him and all…"

"Your Dad works for Henry Dent?" asked Bruce.

"He used to," agreed Harley. "But they were cutting back on staff and had to let him go. No notice or anything. After twenty years of service. But I guess that's the economy we're in," she sighed. "Not that you'd know anything about that," she added, grinning. "Anyway, I used to work two jobs to help 'em out, but they insisted that I drop one and go to medical school, since I was accepted into the psychiatric program. So here I am," she said.

"I've got a few psychology classes," said Bruce. "Probably not gonna major in it, though. My Dad's a surgeon, so I'll probably go into that. Family business and all," he said, grinning.

"Is it just you and your parents?" asked Harley.

"No, I've also got an older brother," said Bruce. "Jack."

"Is he a surgeon too?" she asked.

"No, he's…uh…he does a lotta stuff," said Bruce. "Jack of all trades, I guess you could call him. We're very close."

"I always wanted a sibling," said Harley. "But Mom and Dad didn't think they could afford one. They can barely afford me, really!" she laughed.

Bruce studied her. He had never really met someone whose life had been influenced by the lack of money, aside from his older brother, of course. He hadn't fully realized how important wealth could be in living a comfortable, or even normal life, and he began to feel guilty for taking it for granted.

He only half-listened to the induction speech, and when it was over, joined Harley in her psychology classes. He had never really looked into the subject before – his brother had warned him off what he termed "useless mumbo jumbo" like that. But the man who taught it, Professor Crane, made it all sound very interesting, and truth to tell, Bruce was also very interested in spending as much time as possible with Harley.

He did have a girlfriend, he reminded himself. But while Selina was someone he had known forever, from a similar background, he found himself drawn to the differences between himself and Harley. He was utterly fascinated by the idea of a woman who had had to work for everything she had in her life. Selina was familiar and comfortable – Harley was new and interesting. And sometimes a young man could be very superficial in his affections.

It took him a few weeks to get up the courage to break up with Selina, which didn't end well. He was slapped more than once. And it took him a few weeks more to get up the courage to ask Harley over for dinner.

"You mean…like a date?" she asked, surprised.

"Kinda," stammered Bruce. "I mean, it won't just be you and me – my parents will be there, and my brother's promised to come…"

"Your family's going to be there?" she repeated. "That's more than a date. That's serious, Bruce."

"Well, you…you don't have to come," he said, slowly. "Only I'd really, really like you to. I mean, you don't even have to think of it as a date…just like a friend coming over for dinner. In nice clothes. If you want. If you're not comfortable with the whole dating thing, I mean…"

"I'm more just…surprised," she said, honestly. "I can't imagine why a guy like you would want to have anything to do with a gal like me."

"Well, why wouldn't any guy?" asked Bruce. "He'd have to be nuts."

She grinned. "What time should I be there?" she asked.

"I'll pick you up," he said. "Around seven."

She nodded. "I'll try to find something nice to wear. I'll also try not to panic about how much I'm going to embarrass myself around your family tonight."

"Don't worry," he said, firmly. "They'll love you. I'm sure of it."


	9. Chapter 9

"Mom, Dad, I'd like to introduce you to Harleen Quinzel," said Bruce, escorting her into the foyer of Wayne Manor.

"It's so lovely to meet you, Harleen," said Martha, rushing forward to embrace her. She kissed both her cheeks, which Harley wasn't exactly prepared for, and she didn't know how to respond. "Bruce has told us so much about you."

"Yes, welcome to our home, Harleen," said Thomas, repeating the actions of his wife. Harley still didn't know how to respond.

"Oh…call me Harley, Mr. Wayne – everyone does," Harley stammered. "And thank you. It's such a beautiful house."

"May I take your coat, miss?" asked Alfred.

"Sure, thanks," said Harley, as she began to take it off. Alfred took over doing this for her, and Harley felt slightly embarrassed for not knowing she should have just stood still and let him remove her coat.

"What a beautiful dress, Harley," said Martha, kindly. "Did you get it at a vintage shop?"

"Uh…no," said Harley. "No, it's something my mother had in her closet. Actual vintage, I guess!" she laughed. "Doesn't quite fit me, though," she said, adjusting her skirt. "I was hoping nobody would notice."

"You shouldn't dress so nicely if you don't want anyone to notice you," said Bruce, smiling at her.

Harley smiled back. "Who taught this one to be such a charmer?" she asked.

"That would be his father," replied Martha, smiling at Thomas. "His son's a regular chip off the old block."

"What about his other son?" asked Harley. "Is he a charmer too?"

She sensed she had said the wrong thing, because an uneasy look came over both Thomas and Martha's faces. "Jack's a…nice boy," said Martha, slowly. "I wouldn't describe him as charming…"

"Oh, he's charming in his own way, Mom," said Bruce. "Let me guess – he's not here yet."

"You know your brother!" laughed Thomas. "He's not answering his phone, as usual, so he might not turn up at all…"

"He will, Dad – he promised me," replied Bruce. "My big brother's never broken a promise to me, Harley," he explained. "He's just the best."

Harley noticed Thomas and Martha sharing a look, and sensed that there was some sort of family drama she was as yet unaware of. She wondered for not the first time this evening what she had gotten herself into.

"Can we show you around the house, Harley?" asked Martha. "Alfred says dinner will still be a little while, so we have some time."

"Sure, that sounds great," said Harley, although she was utterly overwhelmed by the space, wealth, and opulence of the place. She wondered how anybody could ever feel comfortable living here, and the tour didn't enlighten her any. It was like being shown around a museum.

By the time the tour was over, Bruce's brother still hadn't arrived, and they decided to start serving dinner without him. Harley had just been seated next to Bruce when the door to the dining room was kicked open and a familiar figure strode in.

"Sorry I'm late, I…" began Jack, but his eyes fell on Harley and his mouth fell open in shock. Harley was equally surprised to see him.

"It's…you!" she stammered.

"Yeah…it's me," he said, slowly. He laughed. "Gotta say, when my brother calls to tell me he wants me to come over for dinner and meet his new girlfriend, you're the last person I thought I'd see."

"You two…know each other?" asked Bruce, surprised.

"We've…we've met," said Harley.

"Yeah, I've been to the diner where she works," explained Jack. "We had a chat. She's good at that…customer service."

He took a seat across from her. "Well, what did you two talk about?" asked Bruce, tucking into his dinner.

"Y'know, stuff," said Jack, casually. "Just small talk, wasn't it, sweetheart?"

"Yeah…small talk," agreed Harley. "Though I understood…your mother was dead."

"Yeah, Mrs. Wayne is my step-mother," explained Jack. "Who was kind enough to take me in after my own mother…died."

An awkward silence fell upon the table.

"And…uh…how did you two meet?" asked Jack at last. "Been to Harley's diner too, huh?"

"No, Harley and I go to med school together," replied Bruce.

"Oh yeah, the whole shrinking thing," said Jack, nodding. "How's that working out for you, toots?"

"Uh…fine," she said. "Classes are really interesting, actually."

"They are," agreed Bruce. "In fact, I have kinda an announcement I wanted to make tonight. I've decided that I want to join Harley in being a psychiatrist, so I switched my major this morning."

Thomas stared at him. "Don't you think…you should have consulted us first, Bruce?" he asked.

"Well, I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions now," he replied, shrugging. "And it means I can hang out with Harley more."

Harley wasn't sure what to say – she liked Bruce, but this was a huge step for him to take for her before they'd even had one date together. She actually felt slightly uncomfortable.

Jack snorted. "Well, good luck to you, kid," he muttered. "Have fun joining all the other phonies and fakes in that profession. I thought you were actually gonna make a success of your life."

"There's no reason I can't be a success as a psychiatrist, Jack," said Bruce, slightly taken aback at his brother's hostility. "It's a profession that's helped a lotta people…"

"Helped a lotta lying people get richer," agreed Jack. "That's about all it's good for. And you don't need to get richer, Bruce. Why can't you do something useful instead of just making more money for yourself?"

"Well…what do you do that's useful, Jack?" asked Bruce.

"Me? I'm trying to exterminate a pest," muttered Jack, chugging a glass of wine. "Call it a public service."

"I really don't think you should insult both Harley and me by belittling our chosen careers," said Bruce.

"No, you're right, I'm sorry, Bruce," said Jack. "I should be happy you're both wasting your lives. At least you'll be doing it together."

"I…kinda thought you'd all be happy for me," said Bruce, slowly. "Harley's happy about it, aren't you, Harley?"

"Sure," agreed Harley. "It'll be a lotta fun…getting our degrees together."

She was about to sip from her glass, and then put it down. "Uh…sorry, I can't drink this," she said, nodding at the wine. "I'm underage."

Thomas looked surprised. "Oh. But you're in medical school…"

"I got in straight from high school," she explained. "I'm only eighteen."

"She's young – explains why she still believes psychiatry's a useful profession," said Jack. "What's your excuse, Bruce?"

"Jack, why are you acting like this?" asked Bruce, hurt. "You've always supported my decisions before…"

"I'm sure he's just in a bad mood because he's been drinking," interrupted Thomas. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

Jack glared at him and took a deep breath. "Yeah, sorry, Bruce," he muttered. "It's my fault, as usual. I'm sorry for being a jerk."

"Alfred, please bring Harley something non-alcoholic to drink," said Martha. "I'm sorry, Harley, we should have thought…"

"No, it's ok!" she laughed. "I probably just should have drunk it and not caused any trouble!"

"Well, respect for the law isn't exactly a bad thing," said Bruce, grinning. "In fact, it's something my whole family really believes strongly in."

"Sure, yeah, that's right," muttered Jack, standing up. "Just gonna go out for a smoke. Don't hold the next course for me."

He left the table without another word. "I'm sorry about Jack," said Thomas. "He doesn't mean to be rude. He's just…never been very tactful. Especially when he feels strongly about something."

"You don't have to apologize, Mr. Wayne," she replied. "I understand."

She stood up. "Sorry, where was the bathroom again?"

They gave her directions and she left the room. She managed to find the bathroom all right, but finding her way back to the dining room was a different story. After wandering around for about ten minutes, she spotted Jack smoking a cigarette on the balcony, and went outside to join him.

"Uh…sorry to bother you," she said. "But I can't seem to find my way back to the dining room."

He laughed, turning to smile at her. "It's all a little overwhelming, ain't it?" he asked, gesturing around. "Living like this?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Is that why you don't live here anymore?"

He shrugged. "Partly. And partly because my family doesn't agree with my vendetta against Joe Chill. They think I should just give it up."

"Why don't you?" she asked.

He blew out a cloud of smoke. "I can't be happy while he lives," he murmured. "I can't ever be happy thinking that he might be out there somewhere, doing the same thing to other people. I can't stand the thought of the man who did that to my mother getting away without being punished for it. I don't think that's so hard to understand."

"No, it isn't," she agreed. She was silent, waiting for him to finish his cigarette and escort her back.

"Guess you'll have to get used to this kinda stuff," he said, nodding inside. "The space and luxury and everything. If you're gonna be with my brother long term, I mean."

"Oh…yeah," she agreed. "I…I dunno about that. This whole situation has been kinda too much, too soon for me."

"Most gals would probably like that from a nice, rich guy," said Jack.

"Maybe," she agreed. "I don't wanna feel ungrateful to your brother. I'm not ungrateful to him at all. I mean, the day after he met me, he called up Henry Dent and convinced him to give my Dad his job back. Which is great, and I'm really thankful for that, only…I don't like feeling indebted to anyone. I mean, he'd just met me. It's a little stifling for him to be that eager that soon. And…I dunno, I'm being silly," she said, shaking her head. "But…I've never been the kinda girl who likes to depend on others. And Bruce doing everything for me, even nice things…it makes me feel kinda useless. I know that sounds crazy…"

"It doesn't sound crazy," he murmured. "If you're brought up to work for yourself and make your own way, you feel guilty when people start to do things for you. I certainly couldn't take it long term."

He flicked his cigarette butt into the yard. "You love my brother?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I…only just met him a few weeks ago," she stammered.

"It don't take that long to fall in love with someone," he said. "Apparently. Don't have much experience with it myself. But I hear if you love someone, it's worth putting up with all the bad things about them. In Bruce's case, too much money and disreputable family members," he added, grinning. "If you love him, maybe this'll all seem better in the future."

"And if I don't?" she asked.

He smiled sadly. "Just let him down gently, huh?" he asked, taking her hand. "He's always had everything come so easy for him. He's gotten everything he's ever wanted. Which is good – he deserves that. But I just don't wanna see him hurt."

"You must really love him a lot," said Harley.

He nodded. "The only person I love in the world, toots," he said, escorting her back inside. "And probably the only person I ever will."


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, Harley was cleaning glasses at the diner and thinking about the previous night. She wasn't thinking about the nice meal or the conversation, or even the tender kiss Bruce had given her when he dropped her off home. She was thinking about his brother. Jack Wayne was a broken man in a lot of pain, a man who had nothing to live for but his revenge against the man who had killed his mother. It was terribly sad. She felt pity for him, but more than that, she felt the need to help him somehow. He seemed like a good man at heart, and it wasn't right that a good man should have to suffer that much. He deserved to be happy.

She was distracted from her musings by a voice saying, "Can I get a cup of coffee here, sweetheart?"

She looked up, and her heart froze. The man sitting at the counter smiling at her was Mr. Joe Chill.

"Oh…yeah, sure," she stammered, hoping she appeared calm, although her heart was hammering in her chest. "Coming right up."

She poured a cup of coffee with shaking hands and then placed it down in front of him. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, handing her a bill. "Keep the change and buy yourself something nice, huh?" he added, winking. "Pretty girl like you deserves it."

"Uh…thanks," she said slowly, taking the bill over to the register. She placed the money inside and shut the drawer, and then carefully made her way over to the telephone behind the counter. She reached into her pocket, withdrew Jack's number, and dialed it slowly.

It rang for a few agonizing moments. And then a familiar voice said, "Hello?"

"He's…he's here," whispered Harley.

"I know. I'm on my way. Get yourself outta there now, sweetheart," he said, and then he hung up.

Harley's panic increased, but she tried to remain calm so as not to arouse Chill's suspicions. The diner was pretty empty at the moment, so she thought she might use the excuse of heading outside to write down the new specials on the board. She knelt under the counter to get a piece of chalk, but her heart stopped as she stood up and saw Jack standing in the doorway, holding a gun.

He didn't see her – his intense eyes were fixed solely upon the man at the counter as he slowly approached him. "Joe Chill?" he said, in a calm voice.

Chill turned slowly. "Who wants to know?" he asked, seeing the gun. His hand slid carefully toward his belt.

"The name's Jack," muttered Jack. "Jack Wayne. But you might know me better as Jack Napier."

Chill grinned. "You're that bastard kid!" he laughed. "Son of Napier's whore of a wife and some rich twit! Last I heard of you, Napier was gonna send you off to hell with your slut of a mother."

"Yeah, I sent him there instead," replied Jack. "He's probably there now waiting for you, Joe. Think it's about time you joined him, don't you?"

"I'd like to see you try, kid," retorted Chill. "Anyway, we only gave your Mommy what she deserved for spreading her legs for another guy. The slut was begging for death by the end, just like she begged for that rich boy Wayne to screw her…"

Jack had pulled the trigger on his gun with a roar, but Chill ducked out of the way of the bullet and it ricocheted off the counter. His own gun was out in an instant and he fired back, missing Jack by an inch.

The other customers began screaming and panicking, racing for the exit. Every instinct in Harley's body told her to follow them, but she stood frozen to the spot, eyes focused on Jack.

He had ducked behind a booth as Chill crouched underneath the counter, both of them waiting for the other to make a move. Jack raced to another booth to get a better shot, and Chill fired at him, shattering the dishes on the table above him instead. Jack stood up to take a shot at Chill, and Chill threw a chair at him, knocking him to the ground with a gasp.

Chill came over to stand above him, smiling. He cocked his gun and pointed it down at Jack's face. "Say hi to your Mommy for me," Chill murmured, his finger tightening on the trigger.

He fell back with a cry suddenly as a plate smashed against his head. "Jack, run!" shrieked Harley, smashing another plate on Chill's head. Chill roared in pain, whirling around and striking Harley across the face with his gun. He grabbed her around the waist, putting the gun to her temple.

"You want another whore's blood on your hands, kid?!" he hissed as Jack leapt to his feet, pointing his gun at him. "Put down the gun now!"

Jack was breathing heavily, hands shaking. But he slowly obeyed, lowering the weapon to the ground. "That's a good boy," hissed Chill, grinning. "And just to make sure you don't follow me…"

Harley heard a shot, and then felt a sudden surge of unimaginable pain in her shoulder. She screamed, falling to the ground as Chill removed his arms from around her waist and raced out the door. She was caught before she hit the floor by Jack, who cradled her in his arms, tears in his eyes.

"Oh God, oh my God, oh God!" he gasped. "Stay with me, kid, ok? Stay with me!"

She couldn't respond – she could barely see anything through the blinding agony. She just sobbed, feeling the pain spread through every inch of her. The world grew hazy, then started spinning, and then went black.


	11. Chapter 11

She opened her eyes slowly to darkness. She could barely make out the shape of a man sitting by her bed with his head bowed. She stirred slightly and he looked up. She recognized those intense green eyes, wet with tears, that stared at her with heartbreaking tenderness.

"You're awake," he whispered, and she could hear the relief in his voice. "Thank God!"

"Jack…what happened?" she gasped, trying to sit up. She cried out as a bolt of pain shot through her.

"No, no, don't try to move just yet," he said gently, bending over and readjusting the blankets. "Don't aggravate the wound or it'll scar more."

"Scar?" she repeated. "What wound, what…oh my God, he shot me!" she gasped, realizing suddenly and trying to look at her shoulder. It was cleaned and bandaged. She looked up at him.

"Did you do this?" she asked.

He nodded. "I've been shot a couple times…it's easier taking a bullet outta somebody else though!" he said, smiling. "You're lucky you were unconscious for it…"

"Why didn't you take me to a hospital?" she asked.

"If…if I'd brought you in with gunshot wounds, the cops would be called and…and I…I can't really run into the cops…with my record. My Dad can't bail me out this time – I've done too much bad stuff…"

He trailed off as Harley lifted up the blanket slightly, her face flushing scarlet. "Where's…my shirt?" she stammered. "And my…bra?"

"Just on the chair here…I…I didn't look or…or touch you more than I had to," he stammered. "I promise, I just needed to get to your shoulder…I was focused on getting the bullet out, and that was all…"

He was blushing too, and stood up. "I…I washed them…tried to get most of the blood out..." he stammered, gesturing at her clothes.

"It's fine, Jack," she said. "I imagine it's nothing you haven't seen before."

He nodded. "Just…don't tell my brother, all right?" he said. "It'd be…weird."

She nodded. "Have you told him what happened?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I couldn't bear to until I knew you were gonna be all right. I just kept wondering what on earth I was gonna tell him, if…if you hadn't pulled through, and it would've all been my fault…"

"No, you told me to get outta the diner," she replied. "It's my fault for not listening to you."

"Why…didn't you?" he asked. "I'm grateful that you saved my life, of course, but I don't understand why you didn't run away with the rest of the customers. This is just between me and Chill. I didn't want anybody else getting hurt. But now I nearly got my brother's girlfriend killed…"

"You didn't," she repeated, firmly. "I chose to stay. I didn't want you to face him alone. And you're lucky I didn't, or you wouldn't be here today."

"Probably would be better for everyone," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. He sighed. "I'd better call Bruce – the shootout will probably be all over the news. And if you're missing, he'll be worried sick."

"I'd better get dressed first," she said. "In case he hurries over. Can't find me here like this."

He nodded, still blushing. "Anybody else you need me to call? Your parents?"

"I'll call them," she said. "Tell them I'm ok. Bruce will probably insist on taking me to the hospital, and I'll meet them there."

He nodded again, staring at her. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Please believe that. I never meant for this to happen…"

"Don't add this to the burden you already carry, Jack," she interrupted, gently. "This wasn't your fault. Neither was your mother's murder. You have to learn to forgive yourself."

"I haven't done anything worthy of forgiveness," he retorted. "Everything I've done has just made things worse. But I will find him again, and kill him, I swear it."

"And then will you be happy?" asked Harley, softly.

He shrugged. "I don't even know what that is anymore, kid," he muttered, reaching for his phone. He headed for the door as Harley heard him say, in broken tones, "Bruce…I got something to tell ya…"

He shut the door behind him. Harley dressed slowly and carefully, trying not to put any pressure on her wound. Then she called her parents, reassuring them that she was all right and that she'd be at the hospital soon. She had just hung up the phone when she heard footsteps and angry voices storming toward her down the hall.

"I just don't understand why the hell you'd try to kill him in Harley's diner, Jack!"

"I didn't have a choice! I couldn't let him escape me again!"

"He _has_ escaped you again! And you nearly got my girlfriend killed in the process!"

"Please, Bruce, I didn't mean for anybody else to get hurt…"

"Well, she _is _hurt, Jack! And it's all your fault!"

The door was flung open and Bruce Wayne rushed into the room, racing over to Harley and embracing her tenderly. "Oh, baby, thank God you're safe!" he gasped. "We saw that there had been a shooting on the news, and you were missing, and we were all worried sick!"

"They probably blew it outta proportion, like the media always does," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, Bruce, really."

"Let me see the wound," he said, pulling aside her collar and examining the bandage. "We need to get you to a hospital, baby – my brother is in no way a qualified surgeon. Dropped outta high school, so wouldn't really last in medical school."

"Bruce, please, I'm sorry…" began Jack.

"I'm really angry with you right now, Jack, and I think understandably so," snapped Bruce. "Why don't we talk later, when my girlfriend has recovered from the gunshot wound you caused?"

"Bruce, it's not his fault…" said Harley, gently.

"Yeah, I'm sure Joe Chill would have shot you without his help," retorted Bruce, sarcastically. "He seems like the kinda guy who just goes around shooting randomers."

He lifted Harley gently up in his arms and headed for the door. "Bruce, please, I'll do anything to make this right!" cried Jack.

"There's nothing you can do, Jack!" snapped Bruce. "Just don't try to talk to me. I'll call you when I feel like talking. _If _I feel like talking," he corrected.

He turned back to look at him. "I just don't understand how you could be so selfish," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "How you could do this to your own brother! Mom and Dad have said for years that you're no good, and I've always defended you. But maybe they were right all along."

He slammed the door in Jack's face. Jack stared at it for a few moments before he began releasing his rage on the furniture with a roar, breaking chairs and tables and beating them into pieces. He fell to the ground in the middle of the room at last, sobbing uncontrollably as the night grew darker.


	12. Chapter 12

Harley was confined to the hospital for the next few days. Bruce showered her with bouquets of flowers and chocolates and gifts so that her entire room looked like a flower shop and Hallmark store had exploded inside it. She thought that, all in all, the giant stuffed bunny was probably making her feel worse rather than better, and asked the nurse to remove it, along with most of the other junk. She would just tell Bruce that it had been a safety hazard, if he asked.

She had asked Bruce about his brother, but he didn't want to talk about him at all, except to say he hadn't seen or heard from him. Harley was worried sick – she knew how harshly Bruce's last words to him must have affected him, and she was paranoid that that, coupled with his failure to kill Joe Chill, might have made him do something rash.

She still had Jack's number in her pocket, and had been trying to call him ever since she had been in the hospital, but he never answered, which only increased her paranoia.

She was about to hang up the phone during her latest attempt when she heard a click, and a familiar voice say, "Hello?"

"Jack? It's Harley," she said.

There was silence on the other end. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I…I just wanted to hear from you…to make sure you're all right," she stammered.

"I ain't the one who got shot, kid," he replied. "Are _you_ all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's healing fine," she said. "Not much of a scar. You did a good job."

There was silence again. "Can I see you?" she asked suddenly. "I'm still in the hospital."

"I…I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to come to the hospital, kid," he said, slowly. "Y'know, in case the cops show up. Or…my brother or somebody."

"Please, Jack," she said. "I'm going crazy in here. I don't wanna see the same old people, who weren't there, who don't understand what I went through. I wanna see you."

He sighed heavily. "All right. I'll try to get there soon."

He hung up. Harley spent the rest of the day waiting in restless anticipation, but Jack didn't show. She was just about to drop off to sleep later that night when she felt a movement at her side, and opened her eyes to see Jack taking a seat next to her bed.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, surprised.

"Window," he said, nodding at it. "Thank God they didn't put you on one of the upper floors. Might have gotten vertigo or something."

She smiled. "I'm so glad to see you," she said, reaching for his hand.

He laughed. "Don't think anybody's ever said that to me before, kid," he said, smiling at her.

"Then you must know a lotta idiots," she replied.

He grinned. "I'm glad you're feeling better, kiddo," he said. "How's Bruce?"

"He gave me a giant bunny," she said, nodding toward the closet. "Take a look."

He opened the door and laughed. "Wow, that'll give you nightmares! Creepier than a giant clown!"

"I like clowns," retorted Harley. "Always have. My Dad tells me I used to chase 'em."

He stared at her. "Are you…Harleen Frances Quinzel?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, surprised. "Why?"

He laughed. "Nothing. It's just…you were a cute kid."

She looked confused. "I met you at a party once," he said. "You were chasing a clown. Never would have guessed you'd grow up to be my brother's girlfriend."

"Yeah…if someone had told me I'd be dating Bruce Wayne, I wouldn't have believed it either. I'm not the kinda girl who has luck like that. Obviously," she said, nodding at her wound.

"Well, I appreciate you trying to smooth things over between us," he said. "But I still don't think Bruce is gonna wanna see me."

"You…think I wanted to see you because of Bruce?" she asked, slowly.

"Well, yeah. Don't you?" he asked.

She was silent. "I've…been thinking a lot about you," she said, slowly. "When I should have maybe been thinking about your brother. But…I don't really love your brother. And I thought maybe I would, in time, but…but now I just find myself preoccupied with…someone else. I don't think time's gonna change that. I find myself thinking that…maybe the Wayne boy I wanna be with isn't Bruce."

He gazed at her. "What are you…talking about?" he asked.

"I think you probably know," she murmured, squeezing his hand.

He gulped. "Harley, you're…my brother's girlfriend. And about half my age…"

"I know that," she said. "I'm not stupid, Jack."

"So I can't really…have anything to do with you…in that way," he stammered. "It wouldn't be right…"

"Are you the kinda guy who's concerned about right and wrong?" she asked. "Or do you just wanna kiss me?"

"I…_do_ wanna kiss you," he admitted, bending down. Their lips met, and Harley slid her arm around his neck, pulling him in deeper as their kiss grew more passionate.

"Harley, I've…I've already hurt my brother enough without trying to steal his girlfriend," he whispered, trying to draw away.

"You ain't trying," she retorted, smiling. "I'd say you've already succeeded."

"It'll break Bruce's heart…" he began.

"What about your heart, Jack?" she whispered. "You do so much for him and for the memory of your mother. Why don't you do something that'll make you happy for a change?"

"Harley, I can't offer you anything," he said, sincerely. "No money, no life, no future. My life serves just one purpose: to kill a guy. No gal could have a happy future chained to that."

"What happens after you kill him?" she asked. "Because you will."

"I…I ain't ever thought that far ahead," he stammered.

"I have," replied Harley. "You make a life with me. You start your life again, with me to help you erase the pain of the past. You reconcile with your family, and you become a good man again, Jack."

He laughed. "God, you're so young, kid," he murmured. "To think people can just start over. To think that a guy can ever be good again once he's gone bad…"

"You're not a bad man, Jack," she whispered. "You've done some bad things, but you've done them for a good cause. I couldn't love a bad man. But I think…I love you."

He stared at her. "If…if a gal like you can love a guy like me…then maybe there is some hope for me," he whispered.

"I know there is," she murmured. "Believe it, Jack."

"And you think…I can ever be reconciled with Bruce after…this?" he asked. "After getting you shot, and then...and then stealing you from him?"

"I certainly hope so," she replied. "Because I'm staying with you. Whatever else happens, I'm going to be with you."

He grinned. "That sounds like a challenge to me, toots."

"You gonna accept it?" she asked, grinning back.

"I'd have to be crazy not to," he chuckled, bending down to kiss her again.

"Stay with me tonight," she murmured as he pulled away at last.

"I can't, kid," he replied. "The doctors will find me here in the morning, and then there'll be all sorts of trouble."

"Mmm, surely Jack Wayne isn't afraid of a little trouble?" she asked, smiling at him.

He studied her and smiled back. "I take it back, kid," he said, climbing into bed next to her. "Maybe I am crazy after all."

"Good. I like you this way," she said, snuggling into his arms. "Night, Jack."

"Night, kid," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He held her in a firm but gentle embrace as the night passed, and he gradually drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

She awoke in the middle of the night to him climbing out of bed. "Jack?" she asked, sleepily. "What is it?"

"I gotta go, kid," he said. "I just got a call. Something's come up."

"Is it Joe?" she asked.

"Yeah. Got a rumor on his location."

"Can I come too?" she asked.

He laughed. "Yeah, that'd be great! Not only do I kidnap you from the hospital, but I kidnap you just to put you in harm's way again, by taking you to kill the guy who shot you! No thanks, toots. You stay here."

"But he's dangerous," she said. "He nearly killed you at the diner."

He shrugged. "I had it under control."

"Jack, I don't want you to get hurt," she murmured. "I don't want this to be the last time I see you."

"Baby, if I can kill him tonight, then nothing is gonna come between us and our future," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands. "I can start my life again with you tomorrow. I can make things right with Bruce. I can…be good again. But first I gotta kill him. I've been waiting fifteen years to kill him. I can't wait any longer."

She nodded slowly. "Be careful," she whispered.

"I will. I promise," he said, kissing her tenderly. "I got something worth being careful for now, after all."

"I love you, Jack," she whispered.

"I love you too, kiddo," he said. "Now keep that cute chin up, huh?" he said, beaming at her. "And smile for me."

She obeyed. "That's my girl," he said, kissing her again and heading for the window. "See you soon, sweetheart."

Harley didn't sleep for the rest of the night, and was still wide awake by the time the doctor saw her the next morning. Bruce visited shortly after, and Harley was trying to figure out how exactly to begin the break up conversation, when he was called away suddenly by a nurse. When he returned, his face had clouded over in an expression that Harley couldn't quite read, but it looked troubled.

"Everything ok?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. How about you? Everything ok with you, Harley? Anything you wanna tell me?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah…there is something, actually, Bruce…"

"Is it about Jack?" he interrupted.

She stared at him, shocked. "How did you…"

"I've just been shown the CCTV footage from earlier tonight from the outside of the building," he murmured. "Jack climbed in your window, and climbed out several hours later."

He looked at her coldly. "What was he doing in here, Harley?"

"I called him. I wanted to see that he was ok…" began Harley.

"You know what that's called?" interrupted Bruce. "It's called breaking and entering. Climbing inside private property without permission. It's a crime."

"Bruce…"

"And I guess…cheating with his brother's girlfriend isn't a crime, but it damn well should be," growled Bruce.

"No, Bruce, that's not what happened," said Harley. "We didn't do anything…"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love him," he snapped.

"I…can't do that, Bruce," she stammered. "Nothing happened between us but…but I _am _in love with him. I only fully realized it last night and I was going to tell you this morning…"

"What made you realize that, Harley?" he snapped. "What did he do to you to make you think you're in love with him?"

"Bruce…"

"You like a guy who puts you in danger, is that it?" he demanded. "Somebody whose own selfishness gets you shot? That's the kind of man you want, Harley?! Are you crazy?!"

"Love isn't rational sometimes, Bruce," she retorted. "If your love was rational, it would never have picked me, because anyone can objectively see we're all wrong for each other. You need a girl who likes being taken care of and pampered, who likes the guy she's with to make her feel like she's the only thing that matters in his life. But that's not the kind of guy I want or need. I want to be a psychiatrist so I can help people. That's what I want to do with my life. And I can help Jack. He needs me."

"He needs to stop causing trouble!" roared Bruce. "I used to think he was my best friend! More than that – he was my brother! Family is meant to have your back no matter what happens! They're not meant to get your girlfriend shot, and then steal her away from you!"

He buried his face in his hands. "I always thought Jack was a decent man at heart, even though everyone around me told me otherwise. I didn't want to believe them…but I guess I should have listened to them all along. I guess this is what I get for putting my faith and trust in a…criminal! That's all he is! A thieving, backstabbing criminal!"

"If you want to blame someone for this, Bruce, blame me," retorted Harley.

"I do blame you!" he shouted. "How could you be so blind as to fall for his tricks and deceptions?! He's a criminal, Harley! His one purpose in life is to kill a guy! How can you see any future with a man like that?!"

"I don't know anything about the future, Bruce, and neither do you," she snapped.

"Oh yes, I do," he growled, standing up. "I know in the future, I'm not gonna have anything more to do with the two of you. Jack's dead to me now. He's not my brother anymore."

He headed for the door. "I'm gonna call the cops on him. That's what you do when you see criminals breaking and entering," he said. "The police are gonna catch him, and lock him up for a long time. Maybe then he'll learn his lesson about stealing."

"Bruce, losing you will destroy him," whispered Harley, tears in her eyes. "You say whatever you want about me – never speak to me again if you don't want to. But you have to forgive Jack. He's your brother, and he loves you."

Bruce glared coldly back at her. "I have no brother," he whispered, slamming the door shut.


	14. Chapter 14

"We really appreciate your help with this situation, Mr. Wayne," said Commissioner Gordon. "And your willingness to come in, of course."

"Anything I can do to help in this regrettable matter, Commissioner," said Bruce, his face a mask of stone.

"I mean, I understand he's your brother, but that doesn't give him the right to run rampant…" began Gordon.

"There's no love lost between us, Commissioner," murmured Bruce. "Not anymore."

Gordon nodded slowly. "I warned your father long ago that giving people special treatment and making them think that they're above the law is going to lead to trouble. It hasn't surprised me that your brother has turned out the way he has. He was a criminal at fifteen, and never had to face any consequences for his crime. It's only natural he'd grow up to think unlawful behavior is acceptable."

"Yes…I imagine my father regrets indulging him," murmured Bruce. "Jack was always rotten to the core."

"Well, the location of his latest hideout will be very helpful in tracking him down and bringing him to justice," said Gordon. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

"If I can be of any more help in catching him, please let me know," said Bruce. "I'd feel better knowing he was off the streets. And I hate to just sit around waiting for it to happen. I'd like to be involved in his capture."

"If you'll excuse me for saying this, Mr. Wayne, it's the job of the police to catch bad guys, not regular citizens," replied Gordon. "There's nothing else you can do unless you'd like to join the police force. We could use all the help we can get."

Bruce smiled. "I'm actually in the middle of studying for my medical degree, but I might consider it if the whole doctor thing doesn't work out."

"You could always be a police surgeon," suggested Gordon.

"Actually, I'm planning on going into psychiatry," replied Bruce. "At least, I was before…"

He trailed off, and then stood up. "Excuse me, Commissioner, I have some business to attend to."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," said Gordon. "Thanks once again for the information. We'll let you know as soon as we've got your brother in custody in case you want to see him…"

"I don't," interrupted Bruce. "Not ever again, if I can help it. He's betrayed me, and he's no longer any brother of mine. Family's meant to be there for you, Commissioner – they're meant to have your back. They're not meant to stab you in it."

"It's very possible that…after we catch him, he could be locked away for…a very long time," said Gordon, slowly.

"Good," retorted Bruce. "It's no less than a criminal like Jack deserves. Nobody should be above the law, Commissioner. Not even a Wayne."

Bruce left the police station and headed straight for the university. After a brief discussion with the administration officer, he headed to the office of his psychology teacher, Professor Jonathan Crane.

"Mr. Wayne, this is an unexpected surprise," said Crane, looking up from his book. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I'm actually here to say goodbye, Professor," replied Bruce. "I'm switching my major back to surgery."

Crane frowned. "I hate to lose such a bright spark from my class, Mr. Wayne. Is there any particular reason for this change of heart?"

"Yes," replied Bruce. "But it's the fault of my heart, not you."

"Ah," said Crane. "Miss Quinzel and you have had a falling out, I assume. Well, I would advise not letting a lover's tiff alter your entire plans for the future…"

"She slept with my brother behind my back," interrupted Bruce. "It's more than a lover's tiff. And it's pretty unforgivable."

"I...see," said Crane, slowly. "Well, obviously I'm biased, but I'd still advise persevering in psychology, Mr. Wayne. It's by far the most useful branch of medicine."

"I think my father disagrees," retorted Bruce.

"He's certainly allowed to," said Crane, nodding. "But in my view, a broken body can usually be cured. A broken mind, less so. Which is why the study of the mind is still of such vital importance. For what is human existence without it? A diseased frame may still live peaceably and comfortably. A diseased mind will always cause pain, whether to the patient himself or those closest to him."

"I was recommended a career in law enforcement earlier," said Bruce. "I think a police surgeon would probably be useful. I don't see much use of psychology in catching criminals."

"Don't you?" replied Crane, smiling. "All right, let me give you an example, Mr. Wayne. My own specialty is the study of fear and its effect on human beings. Now imagine the applications such psychology could have in the apprehension of criminals. They're a superstitious and cowardly lot, for the most part. If applied properly, I can see a psychological trick being far more effective than more direct methods like brute force."

"What kind of psychological trick?" asked Bruce.

Crane shrugged. "What are superstitious and cowardly people generally afraid of?"

"I don't know," replied Bruce.

"You would if you studied psychology," said Crane. "Believe me, Mr. Wayne, there is nothing like fear for controlling the criminal element. After all, almost everyone is afraid of something."

"Almost everyone?" repeated Bruce "Who isn't?"

"The insane," replied Crane. "The incurably deranged. What would work on regular criminals won't work on them, because they don't know fear. They know only their own sense of reality. That's why the best criminals are psychopaths, because they cannot be understood. They cannot be intimidated. And they cannot be stopped."

"I don't think any type of criminal is invincible," retorted Bruce. "Or beyond comprehension. They're scum. They do what they do because they're bad people. I don't need to understand them any more than that."

"You would in order to stop them," replied Crane. "Even when dealing with the insane, you would need to understand their motivation. You might not be able to prevent their crimes, but you might be able to predict them. Of course in the case of insanity, that might be exactly what the madman wants. For you to discover his crime, to see and appreciate his work."

"I don't think I want to deal with people like that, Professor Crane," retorted Bruce. "So I guess it's good I'm switching my major. At least I won't have to deal with psychopaths ever again."


	15. Chapter 15

Bruce returned home and entered the living room to see his parents talking to Jack, who looked up as he entered. Bruce glared at him.

"Still haven't found the elusive Joe Chill?" he demanded, sarcastically.

"No, the tip I got turned out to be too late," replied Jack. "He was gone before I got there."

"Well, I wouldn't return to your hideout if I were you - the police are looking for you there," retorted Bruce. "As decent citizens, we should probably call them and tell them you're here."

"We'll…leave you two alone to talk," said Thomas, standing up.

"I don't want to talk to him," snapped Bruce.

"Look, Bruce, I've spoken to Harley…" began Jack.

"I don't want to talk to her either," interrupted Bruce.

"Bruce, please try to be reasonable…" began Martha, gently.

"Why?" demanded Bruce. "When has Jack ever been reasonable? He's dedicated his life to hunting down a criminal, and in doing so, has become a criminal himself! He's been nothing but difficult and unpleasant to everyone he meets, and he ends up with _my _girlfriend! Maybe I should take a page out of his book for once!"

"Bruce, I don't want Harley and me to come between us as brothers," murmured Jack. "I swear to you, nothing happened between us…"

"Even if I believe that, it's only a matter of time before something does," snapped Bruce. "Unless you're not going to pursue a relationship with her."

Jack was silent. "Bruce, I can't…give up the woman I…care about very deeply, the woman who might be able to help me actually make something of my life…"

"If you loved me, you would," snapped Bruce.

"If you loved _me_, you would never ask me to," retorted Jack.

"How could anyone love a criminal?" demanded Bruce.

Jack looked deeply hurt. "Bruce, you're my brother," he murmured. "No matter what happened, I thought we'd always be there for each other…"

"I thought so too, until you betrayed me," said Bruce. "And you expect me to just forgive you for that?!"

"I can't control my feelings, Bruce…"

"But you can control your actions," Bruce interrupted. "Tell Harley you don't want to have anything more to do with her, and we might be able to repair the damage between us."

Jack stared at him. "I…I can't do that, Bruce…you can't ask me to do that…"

"I can and do," said Bruce, firmly. "Otherwise I can't see you again. I can't bear to think of you and Harley together every time I see you. Tell her goodbye and we may yet be brothers again."

Jack was shaking with emotion, but he nodded at last. "All right," he said through a dry throat. "But I hope one day you'll regret making me do this, Bruce. I've had so little happiness in my life, but I'm willing to give up what little I do have for you. You must see how cruel that is…"

"No more cruel than stealing my girlfriend," retorted Bruce.

"If either Harley or me could have controlled our feelings, we would have!" snapped Jack. "But making me hurt her won't make her love you!"

"Maybe I just think she deserves to be hurt," snapped Bruce. "And so do you. You both deserve to know what you've put me through, and how I feel."

Jack just looked at him, and then turned to go. "I've been hurt more deeply than you can ever understand, Bruce," he whispered. "But I would never wish my pain on my worst enemy, let alone someone I care about. You can't love either me or Harley if you want that. Not really."

"What the hell would a common criminal like you know about love?" demanded Bruce.

"A damn sight more than a spoiled, pampered, selfish little brat like you!" roared Jack. "I've spent every single day of my life trying to avenge my mother! My love for her drives my every action! She's caused pain, misery, and untold damage to my life, but I don't resent her for that! I continue to love her, because that's what family do! They love you no matter what! And they support you no matter what! But I guess I've never got either of those things from my family. Not even my own brother, in the end."

Something about the pain in his voice softened Bruce's heart somewhat. "Jack, you can't expect me to just get over what's happened," he muttered. "If I'm acting irrationally, it's because I'm angry and hurt. Surely you can understand that. Dump Harley, give me a few days, and then we'll both talk calmly and rationally. All right?"

Jack nodded slowly. He approached his brother and gazed into his eyes, taking him by the shoulders. "No matter how you feel about me, I'm never giving up on you, Bruce," he murmured. "I'll always be there for you, ready to help you and support you. And I'll always love you. We're bound together by blood, and that's a bond that's never going to be broken. No matter what happens or who comes between us, you will always be the closest person to my heart."

He hugged him tightly. "I love you, little bro," he whispered. And he left without another word.


	16. Chapter 16

Harley had been released from the hospital and returned to her parents' apartment. Jack had called to tell her he'd stop by later that evening – they needed to talk. Harley knew that was never a good phrase and waited with nervousness and dread in the pit of her stomach.

A knock came on the door and Harley hurried to answer it. Her mother got there first. "Hello, ma'am," said Jack, politely, taking off his hat. "Is Harley here?"

"Hi, Jack," murmured Harley, appearing behind her mother.

"Hi, kid," he said. "Can we…uh…talk here?"

Harley nodded. "Mom and Dad are just clearing out."

"We'll be at the cafe around the corner, Harley, if you need us. Just call," said Mr. Quinzel, glancing at Jack suspiciously as he and his wife left the apartment.

"You wanna sit down?" asked Jack, gesturing to a chair after the door shut.

"Will I need to?" asked Harley.

"Maybe," said Jack. "I'm not sure how exactly to tell you this, kid…"

"Is it about Bruce?" she asked as he trailed off.

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, you knew he wouldn't be pleased. And the more I think about it, this is a really harsh thing to do to him, y'know. He'll have to see us together and stuff…"

"What has he said?" demanded Harley. "He's pressured you into breaking up with me, hasn't he?"

"I can see his point of view," said Jack, slowly. "It would be really hard for him to cope with us being together…"

"We could hide it from him," interrupted Harley.

Jack shook his head. "I can't lie to my brother, Harley. If he's going to put me in a position where I have to choose between you two, I have to be loyal to my family, as much as it might hurt me personally."

There were tears in Harley's eyes. "It's not right that he has the power to come between us," she hissed.

"Look, maybe in another time, in another place, we could be together," said Jack, gently. "I'd like to think that anyway. That somehow, somewhere we could be…happy together. But it's not here and now. It's nobody's fault…"

"It's Bruce's fault!" shouted Harley. "And I'm not going to let him ruin things between us, even if you are! I love you, Jack!"

He stared at her with heartbreak in his eyes. "And you'll love someone else eventually too," he murmured. "You're so young, kid. Your feelings are gonna change in time, I promise you."

"I've never been the kinda girl who changes her mind easily," murmured Harley.

"No, and I never said it would be easy," he replied. "I just think, given time, you can stop loving people."

"Have you?" she demanded. "Or is your whole crusade for vengeance based around the loss of someone you loved very deeply?"

"That's completely different," he retorted. "The man who murdered my mother is still out there…"

"And once he's dead, will that satisfy you?" she demanded. "Will that make the pain of that lost love any less terrible? Will you ever get over that love, even with time?"

"Kid, I wish to God my life could have been different," he retorted. "I wish my mother was still alive. I wish my brother had never fallen in love with you, and I wish you hadn't fallen in love with me. I wish I could change the past and the present somehow. But I can't."

Harley said nothing – she stood in front of him crying silently. He sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. "I also wish…I hadn't fallen in love you either," he murmured. "Would've saved myself a lotta pain. But I guess I should be used to pain by now. More of it can't really hurt me anymore."

He brushed past her and headed for the door. "See you around, kid."

"Jack, please don't do this," she whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks.

He turned back to look at her, tears in his own eyes. "I would rather do anything in the world than hurt you, toots," he murmured. "Except break my brother's heart."

Harley shook her head, throwing herself into his arms. "I'm not gonna let you go!" she sobbed. "I'm not!"

"Kid, please don't make this harder than it already is," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I don't have a choice."

"You do," she whispered. "Bruce is angry and upset right now, but he'll get over it. And when he does, he'll see reason. He'll see that he can't separate two people who love each other, that that would be a horrible thing to do. He's a good man. Good people don't do that."

"Harley, you would always come between us," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my brother and I had to fall for the same woman, and I'm sorry that you have to suffer for it along with us. But there can't be anything between you and me anymore. We have to stop loving each other."

"Can you do that?" she asked, gazing up at him pleadingly.

"I have to," he whispered. "However it takes."

She shook her head violently. "No," she whispered. "No, no, I can't do that, Jack! I love you too much! I can't let you go!"

She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth deeply into his. He made a slight noise of protest and tried to draw away, but she held him firmly, and he gradually returned the kiss, his own arms sliding gently around her waist.

She drew her lips away slowly, her wide, blue eyes staring up into his. "Can you?" she repeated.

He was shaking in passion, his breath heavy as he tried to control himself. "Oh God, Harley!" he gasped, shoving his mouth onto hers again. She kissed him desperately, dragging him down on the sofa and ripping off his jacket. She began working at the buttons on his shirt while she felt one of his hands sliding up her leg and into her skirt. The other cupped her face, as he paused in his exploration of her mouth to plant kisses all over the rest of her face. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. "Too beautiful to resist…"

"Oh, Jack," she gasped, as she pulled his shirt off. "So are you."

They returned to each other's mouths, their hands alternating between exploring and undressing each other. And then a hollow vibration sounded from the floor, where Harley had thrown Jack's jacket.

He drew away from her, reaching for the phone in the breast pocket. "Leave it," said Harley, sitting up, her face and body flushed.

"It's from Chuckie," he muttered, glaring at the screen. "Might be about Joe."

"Jack…" she began, but he had already answered it.

"Hello?" he said. He listened for a few moments, and then reached for his shirt on the floor. "Yeah, I'm on my way. Keep an eye on him, whatever you do."

He hung up the phone and threw on his shirt, doing the buttons up. "I gotta go," he said. "I'm…sorry. Both for leaving you in the lurch and…for what I almost allowed to happen. We're not supposed to be together anymore, after all."

"Let me come with you," she said, fixing her clothes.

"No," he said, firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"What are you gonna do – break up with me?" she demanded.

"Harley, don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "You can't come with me to confront a dangerous criminal. You got shot last time you tried that."

"And you would have got killed without me," she retorted.

"Maybe it'll be better that way," he muttered. "So you'll have no choice but to get over me. I'll be outta pain, you'll move on, and Bruce won't have a useless, criminal brother dragging him down."

"Jack…"

"And Joe Chill will be dead," continued Jack. "He's gonna die tonight, even if I have to die too."

He bent down to kiss her as he pulled on his jacket. "I love you," he murmured. "If anyone could have saved me, it would have been you, kid."

"Jack!" she cried, desperately, but he raced from the apartment without another word. Harley raced after him, hurrying to her family car as he climbed into his and drove off. Harley managed to keep him in sight among the twisting streets of Gotham as she sped after him, until Jack's car pulled up in front of a disused factory. The words _Ace Chemicals_ were barely readable in the dark, in faded lettering. Jack opened the door and walked into the complete darkness inside the factory. And Harley followed him.


	17. Chapter 17

Jack had his gun out as he scanned the shadows in the chemical factory. The glowing green acid in the vats cast weird, flickering shadows on the wall, shadows that made his heart pump faster as he waited for some glimpse of his enemy.

He climbed up to the platforms above the chemicals to get a better look, and was suddenly struck a hard blow to the back of the head. He fell to his knees, gasping, as a voice hissed above him, "Shouldn't have come here, kid. You ain't gonna live to regret it."

"One of us isn't," agreed Jack, still clutching his gun. A crowbar was suddenly slammed into his hand, making him drop the weapon. And then he was kicked down onto his back, looking up into the smiling face of Joe Chill.

"Did you really think it'd be easy, getting the jump on a guy like me?" murmured Chill. "I've been hunting and killing people before your whore of a mother even conceived you with that rich twit. When you were just a glint in the rich boy's eye, to coin a phrase," he chuckled.

Chill leaned over him. "I've got something special in store for you, kid," he murmured. "I think dedication such as yours deserves to be rewarded. Because I'm a fair guy like that."

Jack tried to move, but Chill had chained his wrists together while he was speaking. "That's what I told your mother," he continued, picking Jack up by the wrists and dragging him across the platform. "I'm a fair guy. Didn't do anything to her for mere gratification – it was just business. Just my payment for doing a job. I'm sure she understood, though she did keep on screaming. Had to gag her in the end, before we cut her throat and silenced her forever."

He chained Jack to the railing and then reached into his pocket, pulling out a few pieces of paper. "Now let's see," he said, scanning them. "Says here one Joseph Napier was found with multiple stab wounds, and lacerations to the cheeks. Let's start with those, shall we?" he said, flicking out a switchblade.

"You gonna do to me what I did to Joseph Napier?" murmured Jack.

"Just think of it as a kinda poetic justice," said Chill, nodding. "Joseph Napier was a pal of mine. Seems only fair I avenge my friend on his murderer, a stupid little kid who thought he could play with the big boys. Killing ain't for amateurs, son. You do it without thinking through all the consequences, and it's gonna get you into trouble someday."

Without another word, Chill slashed his blade through Jack's cheeks, into a ghastly mockery of a smile. Jack screamed in pain as Chill said, calmly, watching the blood dripping from the wound, "See what I mean? Nobody ever thinks about the consequences. They just think if you kill someone, all your problems will be solved. They never think about all the annoyances that killing can create, like a slut's bastard tailing me and inconveniencing me in my business. But not after tonight," he added, grinning.

He read the notes again. "Multiple stab wounds. I guess that's next," he said, raising the knife.

Chill gasped in pain suddenly as a bullet buried itself in his shoulder. He whirled around to see Harley holding the smoking gun that Jack had dropped. "Put down the knife," she said firmly, although her hands shook.

Chill winced in pain, but twisted it into a grin. "Well, well, well, it's the little waitress," he said. "Guess I should have shot you in the head when I had the chance, sweetheart, and saved myself some pain." He held out his hand. "Give me the gun."

Harley didn't move. "It's not a toy, sweetheart," continued Chill, mockingly. "You play with dangerous things like that, and you're gonna get yourself hurt. You don't want me to do to you what I did to this guy's Mommy, do you?"

"Harley, get out of here!" commanded Jack, gasping in pain as blood dripped down his cheeks.

"Not without you," she retorted. "You let him go, Mr. Chill. Unchain him now or I swear to God I'll kill you."

Chill laughed. "You don't have the guts, sweetheart," he growled. "Just look at you! Innocent, pretty little thing like you wouldn't dare…"

He choked as Harley fired again, burying another bullet in his stomach. "Let him go," she repeated, coldly.

Chill growled, his face twisting in fury. "You think you're brave, you little whore?" he hissed. "Didn't you hear what I just said about making the wrong kind of enemies? Threatening me is gonna be the last thing you ever do."

"I got a gun and you don't," retorted Harley. "So I'm the one making the threats here, Mr. Chill. For the last time, let him go, or I'll aim for your head. And as you can see, I got pretty good aim," she murmured, cocking the gun again.

Chill glared at her but slowly turned around to face Jack, kneeling down to unchain him. He had only got one arm free when Jack seized the knife from him, wrapping his chained arm around his throat. "You wanna see what I did to Joseph Napier?!" hissed Jack, his slashed cheeks giving him a kind of insane grin. "Let me give you the full experience!"

Jack plunged the blade repeatedly into Chill, who screamed and struggled, writhing against the iron grip of Jack's arm, which held firm. The steel bar it was chained to, however, did not.

As the two men continued to struggle, the bar began to creak, breaking loose from the platform. Chill suddenly managed to break away and Jack lunged forward to pull him back. He threw his arm around his neck again, pulling him back with considerable force and impaling him on the knife. It also caused the metal bar to snap, sending them both over the edge of the platform.

Harley had been afraid to do anything with Jack and Chill struggling together – she didn't want to accidentally shoot Jack. But now as the two men plummeted down, she raced to the edge of the platform, trying to grab hold of Jack. But she was too late.

She could only scream and watch in horror as Jack kept a death grip on his enemy, and they hit the acid together, disappearing under the bubbling, green waves.

"Jack!" she shrieked, hurrying to her feet and racing down the steps. "Oh my God, Jack, please be all right!"

She reached the edge of the vat and saw something bubbling up from its depths. "Jack?" she whispered, hopefully.

A body bobbed to the surface of the water, riddled with stab wounds and seeping blood, the red merging in strange patterns with the surrounding green chemicals. It was Joe Chill, and his lifeless eyes stared up at her, blank and empty.

"Oh…God, no!" Harley gasped. "Jack! Jack, where are you?" she cried, plunging her hand into the chemicals. She shrieked in pain as the acid burned her, and she pulled her hand back instantly.

"No," she whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks. "No, Jack, please…please be alive!"

She stared into the vat for what seemed like hours, but what must have only been about thirty seconds. And then another shape shot up from the depths of the acid, grabbing hold of the edge of the vat and hanging on, coughing and spluttering.

"Jack!" she shrieked, seizing him under his arms and pulling with all of her strength. With a mighty heave, she managed to pull him out of the vat at last, and they fell on the floor of the factory together. He landed on top of her, and Harley heard him still struggling to breathe, taking deep, shuddering gulps of air. She put her arms around him, shushing him as the chemicals dripped off him. "It's ok now, sweetie," she murmured. "He's dead. It's ok."

And then she heard something else. A strange noise, that sounded like a low chuckle coming from Jack. It increased in volume and pitch until it was a hysterical, maniacal laugh. "Jack?" whispered Harley, fear clutching at her heart. "You ok?"

He raised his head at last, and she looked up into a strange, white face, with bright green hair and a huge, terrifying smile revealing bloodied teeth. "Never been better, baby," he whispered, and then started laughing again.

Harley stared at him in shock. "Oh…God," she stammered, reaching up a hand to touch his face.

"What is it, Harley?" he asked, still smiling. "You look like you've seen a ghost! The wound from Chill isn't that bad, is it? It don't feel that bad anymore. And it probably looks like a nice, big, pretty smile. My mother always told me that a smile would make everything better, and I guess she was right!" he chuckled.

"You know…that's the first time I've ever laughed, thinking about her," he continued. "Guess that comes from finally seeing her murderer dead. I'm just…so happy, Harley! Whoever said revenge wouldn't make a guy feel better was full of crap! I've…never been this happy before in my life!"

He laughed hysterically again, and Harley just stared at him, tears in her eyes. "Why are you crying, baby?" he asked, still smiling. "You should be happy! Everyone should be happy! He's dead, and…I'm free now, Harley! I can do anything I want, be anything I want! We can be together now! There's nothing stopping us!"

"What about…your brother?" stammered Harley.

"Brother?" he repeated, frowning. "Oh yeah…Bruce. Forgot about him for a moment. Well, we can't let him ruin our happiness, now can we? Not when I've killed Joe Chill at last! Fifteen years, Harley, and it's all finally paid off! Oh, no wonder I'm so happy! He's dead, and I got a great gal here who's just crazy about me! Ain't ya, sweets? You'd have to be, to have followed me here, and threatened Chill, and saved my life twice. You're crazy about me, huh?" he asked, squeezing her cheeks together in a way that hurt a little.

Harley nodded slowly. "Yeah…course I am, Jack. But I think we should probably get you to…a hospital and see about those…wounds of yours."

"No hospitals for me, sweets!" he chuckled. "Don't wanna ruin my new-found happiness with a prison sentence! That'd be crazy!" he giggled. "Why don't we head to a hideout of mine instead, I'll sew up these wounds, and then we can go back to what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted by that phone call," he murmured, kissing her tenderly.

Harley shut her eyes, partially to block out the grinning, white face that was kissing her, although she still tasted the blood on his lips. "Maybe…you should let Bruce see you, or your father," she continued as he drew away. "He's a surgeon…"

"It ain't that bad, is it, sweets?" he asked, frowning slightly again. "You still think I'm handsome, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said. "It's just…"

She trailed off. "What?" he asked.

She took his hand, helping him up. "Come out to the car," she whispered.

Harley opened her car door and fumbled in the glove compartment for a pocket mirror. She handed it to him, and watched as he stared in shock at his reflection. He ran a hand along his face, and then his insane smile returned as he began laughing hysterically again.

"Well, that explains why I'm so happy!" he giggled, grinning at her. "It all makes sense now!"

"Yeah?" said Harley.

"Course it does!" he laughed. "I'm a clown! You ain't never seen an unhappy clown, have you, kiddo? That would be…that would be…crazy!"

He continued to laugh maniacally, falling to his knees. Harley embraced him, shushing him gently and trying to hold back her tears. She would help him, she vowed, as much as she could. But deep in her heart, she was afraid Jack Wayne was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Thomas Wayne shut the door of his elder son's room to hysterical laughter. The door blocked out the sound somewhat, but echoes of it followed him as he slowly made his way back down the stairs and into the drawing room. Martha, Bruce, and Harley were all gathered there, not speaking, eyes fixed on the floor. They all looked up when Thomas entered, and both Harley and Bruce stood up, asking, "How is he?"

Thomas sighed heavily, taking a seat across from them and dropping his face into his hands. "I told him," he murmured. "I told him nothing good could come of this quest for vengeance. I told him it could only end badly. And it has."

"Did you sew up his wound?" asked Harley.

Thomas shook his head. "He wouldn't let me anywhere near him. Said he liked having a nice, big, pretty smile. I think…the chemicals did something to it…it's not scarring. It's just healing into this giant, red-lipped…smile. You can see all his teeth. It looks horrible."

"Can I see him?" asked Bruce.

"I'm…not sure it'll do any good, Bruce," murmured Thomas. "He's not…acting like your brother. Something happened in that acid…to his mind…he's…unpredictable at best."

"I have to see him," said Bruce, firmly. "I can't help feeling responsible for this in some way…after the way I spoke to him about Harley. But…that doesn't seem to matter anymore," he murmured, looking at her. "I just want my brother to be ok."

"I wouldn't hold out too much hope for that, Bruce," murmured Thomas, gently. "I'm not sure he really knows who we are anymore."

Harley began crying again and Martha went to comfort her, as Bruce left the room, climbing the stairs to his brother's bedroom. He heard a strange, low chuckling from within as he knocked on the door.

"Jack? It's Bruce. Can I see you?"

"If you dare, Brucie!" giggled Jack's voice. Bruce opened the door to see Jack huddled in a corner, his face buried in his arms and his knees drawn up to his chest as he rocked back and forth. Things had been smashed in the room – pictures and toys lay on the floor, broken and shredded. Along the walls in red were painted big, grinning smiley faces, and the words _HA HA HA_! Bruce was wondering where Jack had found the paint, when he noticed the same red was staining his suit and seeping from his wrists…

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Bruce, rushing over to see to him. Jack clutched a shard of broken mirror tightly in his hands as blood spilled from between his fingers and leaked from his wrists. "Jack, why…why would you do this to yourself?" he whispered, taking off his jacket and ripping it to pieces to bandage his brother's wounds.

"Thought it'd be fun!" chuckled Jack. "Give the audience something else to look at besides the clown in the cage! Make it a regular freakshow! Step right up and see the Clownman!"

"What are you talking about?" murmured Bruce, gently, as he bandaged his brother's wrists. "Nobody here thinks you're a freak, Jack. We're your family, and we're trying to help you. That's what family does, remember? That's what you told me."

Jack looked up at him, revealing his new face for the first time to his brother. "Why would you wanna help me?" he whispered. "You hate me, a criminal like me…"

"I don't hate you, Jack," said Bruce, soothingly. "I spoke…in anger, and I regret it now. You're my brother, and I love you. I love you," he repeated, embracing him.

Jack giggled. "Pretty good gag, huh?" he chuckled. "I become a monster, and you start to care about me! I guess it's worth it, if it's the only way to get your attention, little bro!"

Bruce held him for a long time. When he released him at last, he sat across from him in silence, while Jack just continued to giggle softly to himself. "I wish I could help you somehow," whispered Bruce. "I wish I knew what you were going through."

"Be careful what you wish for, kid," murmured Jack. "It might come true. I wished…I wished to be happy, y'know. I thought…I thought my life was pretty bleak and miserable, and so I wished…I could kill Joe and be happy. And look how that turned out!" he laughed. "I got my wish, I guess! Can't complain!"

He laughed hysterically as Bruce just looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Everyone…everyone always wanted me to be happy, didn't they?" continued Jack, grinning at him. "You, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, Harley…we all got our wish. I'm happy now! I'm always happy now! Just look at my nice, big smile!" he whispered, holding up the broken piece of mirror and grinning at his reflection. "Mommy said a smile makes everything better, and she was right! She was right!" he laughed, doubling over in fits of giggles.

"Joe…Joe told me she was laughing as he murdered her!" Jack continued, between giggles. "Laughing, or…was it screaming, he said? No, no, he said laughing. Mommy was laughing! All these years I've wasted avenging some kinda…joke! Oh, it makes you wanna laugh, doesn't it, Brucie? What else can you do but laugh?"

"Jack, please, this isn't you," whispered Bruce. "I know you're still in there somewhere. Please come back to me. I'm so sorry for everything I said and did, but I never wanted anything like this to happen. I would do anything for you to come back."

Jack looked up at him, grinning. "Anything?" he repeated.

Bruce nodded, and Jack shut his eyes. "When…I first came here, to the Christmas party, with Mommy…you and me, we…we played dress up. You had a black costume…Zorro or something…and you said you were gonna be a hero just like him when you grew up."

Jack opened his eyes and smiled. "Guess dreams like that really don't come true. But where's the costume, Bruce? I want you to wear it."

"You want me to wear…a Zorro costume?" asked Bruce, slowly. "Why?"

Jack shrugged. "I dunno. For the fun of it, I guess. Might be fun, huh, Brucie? When's the last time you dressed up in a costume?"

Bruce just stared at him. "Jack, why don't you just lie down or something…"

"Do it for me!" roared Jack, suddenly furious. "Find that costume!"

Bruce gazed back into his wild, crazed green eyes, and nodded slowly, "Ok, Jack," he whispered. "I'll be right back."

He left him alone, shutting the door to Jack's low chuckling, and then returned to the drawing room.

"Well?" asked Thomas.

Bruce shook his head. "He's gone," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. "He's gone."

There was silence for several minutes, and then Bruce explained in broken tones that Jack had cut himself. Thomas listened with a pained expression on his face, and then stood up. "Alfred, bring me the telephone, please," he murmured.

"Who are you calling?" asked Martha.

"We can't help him," murmured Thomas. "But there's a place where he can get help, from trained professionals. A place where he can be monitored so he doesn't harm himself again. It's better for everyone if he goes there. He'll be safe."

"You can't seriously mean to commit him?" murmured Bruce, with tears in his eyes. "He's always hated shrinks. This'll drive him even crazier…"

"We don't have a choice, Bruce," replied Thomas, gently. "He needs professional help, for his own sake."

He dialed a number, waited, and then said, "Hello, Arkham Asylum? This is Thomas Wayne. I need to speak to you about a new patient..."


	19. Chapter 19

**Six Months Later**

Being patted down had almost become routine, thought Bruce Wayne, glumly, as he stood outside the metal detector in Arkham Asylum. He couldn't imagine what it was like to be permanently confined in a place like this, he thought, as he looked around the cold, metallic corridors of the asylum. But his father had been right – they hadn't had another choice.

Bruce had visited his brother whenever he could – at least once a month, not that it had seemed to help at all. He wasn't sure that Jack knew who he was. Jack did remember things before his accident, but he remembered things in a faded, twisted way, and it only seemed to be getting worse.

Bruce was distracted from his thoughts as he approached a familiar figure at the end of the hall, a figure dressed in a lab coat over a formal outfit, her blonde hair done up in a tight bun and her blue eyes hard and cold behind her large, round glasses.

"Hello, Harley," murmured Bruce.

She didn't say anything, but nodded at the guards escorting him. "I'll take him from here, thank you."

She turned and walked down the hall in silence, and Bruce followed her. "How's the internship going?" he asked, trying to break the awkward atmosphere.

"Fine," she snapped. "It's let me see Jack more anyway. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Bruce bit his lip. "I've been busy, Harley. I've seen him at least once a month…"

"It's a shame you can't dedicate yourself as much to your family as you do to your work," interrupted Harley, coldly. "I'm still studying for my psychology degree, but I was already visiting him three times a week. What's your excuse?"

Bruce said nothing. "How is he?" he asked, gently.

"How do you think he is?!" she snapped, rounding on him. "This is killing him, Bruce! This is torture! If you wanted to make sure he stays crazy, this was just the thing to do! Send him in here with the other freaks and lunatics, to be constantly interrogated by people who can't help him, who have no idea what he's going through! All he needs is love and support from the people who care about him, and so far you and your so-called family are falling seriously behind!"

"Harley, we're doing all we can…"

"Your father has visited him once, hasn't he?!" demanded Harley. "His own son, and he locks him up in this horrible place and then washes his hands of him!"

"There's nothing he can do, Harley!" shouted Bruce. "There's nothing any of us can do!"

Harley glared at him. "You can be there for him," she whispered. "You can support him, and tell him you love him. That's all I do. And I never get tired of doing it."

They glared at each other in silence, and then Harley pulled out a set of keys, unlocking the cell door in front of them. "Go in," she muttered, holding open the door for Bruce.

Bruce obeyed, and Harley shut the door behind him. Bruce looked around the barren, cold, dark cell, empty except for an uncomfortable-looking cot in one corner and a toilet in the other. In the center of the room sat his brother, crouched over a set of playing cards on the floor, studying them in the dim light cast by the unshaded light-bulb in the middle of the ceiling.

"Jack?" said Bruce, gently.

Jack flicked his intense, green eyes up from the card game and smiled at him. "I assume that's me?"

"Yes, Jack, of course," replied Bruce, puzzled. "You're my brother, Jack Wayne. I'm Bruce, remember?"

"Bruce Wayne," he repeated, nodding, as he returned his attention to the game. "Favorite son of Thomas Wayne. The apple of his father's eye, the only son who's ever gonna make something of his life. How's that working out for you?" he laughed.

Bruce was silent. "Dr. Bruce Wayne," continued Jack. "Who wants to be a useless quack shrink just like his girlfriend…"

"No, Jack, I'm studying surgery again, remember?" interrupted Bruce. "I've told you that several times. And Harley's not my girlfriend anymore…"

"Oh really? Whose girlfriend is she?" he asked.

"Well, she was…yours," murmured Bruce. "Or…something happened between you, or…look, it doesn't matter anymore."

Jack shook his head. "With a memory like mine, Brucie, I like to make sure I get things straight. Really hard to get things straight in my mind since…since I took a little tumble!" he chuckled. "I fell off a…a roof, or a cliff or…"

"A platform," supplied Bruce. "In a chemical factory."

"Right, right," he agreed, flipping another playing card over. "King Chemicals, was it?"

"Ace," corrected Bruce.

"Ace Chemicals," repeated Jack, flipping another card over. "I…I was there to find a guy, a guy who…who…" He looked up at him. "Killed my father?"

"Your mother," he replied. "Your father's alive. He's my father. Thomas Wayne."

Jack chuckled. "Parents! Who needs 'em, huh? All they give you is trouble! Trouble, trouble, trouble," he repeated, flipping over more cards. "Nagging you about your life, telling you what to do, trying to stop you from killing people, making you kill people, always a nuisance! Better off without 'em, Bruce. You're better off without 'em. We both are."

He flipped over another card, and grinned. "Look at this one!" he said, holding it up. "Looks a bit like me, huh? The Joker! Why are these cards even in the pack?" he muttered, flicking it away from him. "Nobody wants 'em. Might as well just throw them away. Lock 'em up and throw away the key, right, Brucie?"

Bruce just watched him as he went over to pick up the Joker card, tossing it into the toilet and then flushing it repeatedly. "Useless, goddamn clown!" Jack hissed. "Just go away, why doncha?! Go away!"

"Jack, c'mon, leave the card alone," said Bruce, taking his brother's arm and pulling him gently away.

"What if he doesn't want to be left alone, Bruce?!" shouted Jack, whirling around to face him. "What if he thinks he'll go crazy if he's left alone anymore?!"

Jack burst into tears and Bruce embraced him tightly, trying to comfort him. "Why did you do this to me, Bruce?" he whispered, gazing up at him with tears in his eyes. "How could you do this to your own brother?"

"Jack, I'm trying to help you…" began Bruce.

"You're trying to drive me mad!" shrieked Jack. Then he grinned his insane grin. "And it's working, Brucie!" he chuckled. "It's working!"

He shoved himself away from him and sat down to play cards again. "Good plan, Bruce, I gotta admit it," he giggled. "Locking your brother up in the madhouse so you can steal his girlfriend back for yourself…"

"I'm not trying to steal Harley," interrupted Bruce. "She doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, trust me."

"Oh, now you think she has a choice?" laughed Jack. "That's funny. When Harley chose me, you blamed me. You said it was my fault, that I stole her, as if I had intended to hurt my own brother. But now Harley has chosen to have nothing to do with you, and it's her fault, not yours. When did she get a mind of her own? When did she stop being an object we both stole from each other?"

"I've never thought of her as an object," said Bruce. "I was upset. I'm sorry for the things I said. I don't know how many times I can say that."

"Oh, well, if you're sorry, that makes everything all right, doesn't it?" asked Jack, smiling at him.

Bruce shook his head. "No. It doesn't."

"No," agreed Jack. "Do you know the only thing that does make everything all right, Bruce?"

He shook his head again. "C'mere," said Jack, beckoning him. Bruce leaned forward, and Jack whispered in his ear, "A nice, big, pretty…"

"Smile!" he shouted in Bruce's ear, making him wince. Jack laughed hysterically. "Why don't you ever smile, Brucie?" he asked, grinning at him. "You don't have anything to be unhappy about, do ya? Nice home, couple of parents, lots of money…even if you're not with Harley, there's gonna be some lucky lady eager to sink her claws into a guy like you – young, rich, handsome…why aren't you smiling all the time?"

"Because my brother's very sick," whispered Bruce. "And it breaks my heart. I want so much to help him. I want so much to understand him…"

"You and every other useless quack shrink in here," interrupted Jack, grinning. "They never will. But you, Bruce," he said, smiling at him. "You, my brother…someday you might."

He stood up again, reaching into the toilet and pulling out the soaked Joker playing card. "Here. Keep hold of this for me, would ya?"

Bruce nodded slowly, pocketing it. "Thanks, Brucie – you're a pal!" chuckled Jack. "Now you'd better go – probably got real important rich people things to do. And I got a game to play. A real fun, entertaining, complex game. Let the cards fall where they may!" he laughed, scattering the deck at his feet.

Bruce nodded again. "I'll…see you soon, Jack," he murmured, turning to go.

"Yes, you will, Brucie!" giggled Jack. "Yes, you will!"

Bruce shut the door to his mocking laughter. Harley was still waiting outside. She turned and escorted him back down the hall without another word. There was nothing for either of them to say.


	20. Chapter 20

Steve Usher had been a security guard at Arkham Asylum for about a year and half now, and he was thinking of quitting his job. Well, there wasn't much else to do but think on the night shift, he mused, glumly, as he closed the newspaper he had already read twice. The hours at Arkham were terrible and long – Steve had been stuck on the graveyard shift for four nights in a row now, and he was a little sick of it. But in this economy, you just had to kinda take what you could get in terms of employment, unless you were rich or something.

He glanced at the door behind him. Not that being rich helped out some people, he thought. The guy he was guarding was the older son of Thomas Wayne, the billionaire, and he had still ended up in the nuthouse. Steve wondered what a guy like that had to go crazy about. He seemed happy enough – he was always smiling and laughing to himself. He couldn't have any real problems or anything. Probably like every other spoiled rich guy, he had just done too much drinking, drugs, and partying. Any mental problems Jack Wayne had were probably self-inflicted, and Steve felt no sympathy for that. He wondered what kinda drugs had made him look like a clown, though. Must have been some nasty stuff. Not that Steve ever touched anything like that – he'd lose his job, for one thing, since they did routine drug tests. Although if he was looking for an excuse to quit…

He suddenly heard clicking footsteps coming down the corridor toward his cell and straightened up. It was probably Dr. Leland coming to check on him, and he wanted to look alert. But he was surprised to see a different figure emerging from the shadows.

It was the intern, Harleen Quinzel. "Harley, what are you doing here so late?" he asked.

"I need to see the patient, Steve," replied Harley, calmly.

He hesitated. "I'm not sure Dr. Leland would like anyone visiting him unsupervised…"

"Then don't tell her," she retorted, shoving past him and unlocking the door. She slammed it shut behind her, and Steve shrugged, sitting back down. He wasn't going to get both of them in trouble for no reason. But he idly wondered why Harley needed to see Jack at this late hour. She usually assisted in his therapy, but that was always supervised. There had been some rumor going around that she had known Jack before he'd gone nuts – that she had dated his brother or something. Maybe it was a family affair…

He heard noises coming from the cell suddenly. Small gasps and groans, and above all that strange, wild laughter from the lunatic. And then he heard a muffled shriek, and knew Harley must be in trouble. He instantly ripped out his gun and threw open the door, and froze in horror at the sight before him.

Harleen Quinzel was pressed against the wall of the cell, her eyes shut in pleasure and half undressed as the patient slammed into her repeatedly. The patient had his back to Steve, but Harley's eyes opened suddenly at the banging of the door, and she smiled at him. "Showtime, Mr. J," she whispered.

Before Steve could react, the patient whirled around, throwing a pair of scissors directly at the guard's face. One of the blades embedded itself in his throat, and he fell to the ground, emitting a final gurgle.

Jack chuckled. "That's what you get for interrupting a guy in the middle of things!" he giggled, turning his attention back to Harley. "You didn't run from your office with those, did ya, toots? You could have put an eye out. Dangerous things, scissors."

"Mmm, I do like a little danger though, Mr. J," she whispered, tightening her legs around his waist and grinning as he enveloped her mouth again.

About half an hour later, after Jack had finished the cigarette Harley had smuggled in along with the scissors, he strode over to the guard's body. Rigor mortis had already set in, so Jack was forced to use the scissors to cut the gun out of the guard's hand. He laughed as he did this, blood splattering all over his face.

"This getaway's just started, and it's already loads of fun!" he chuckled. "Nothing beats a little sex and violence!"

Harley watched the violent display in silence. She knew that people would be dying tonight – you couldn't bust a patient out of a mental asylum without taking a few casualties. And they had planned this breakout for months, so she had gradually rationalized their murder to herself. Anyone who wanted to keep Jack locked up deserved to be killed. It was cruel and inhumane. They were terrible people. But to see him take such sadistic glee in mutilating a body shocked Harley a little. But then Jack was in a very dark place now, she reminded herself. He needed her to stay with him and support him and love him if he was ever going to get any better. He wasn't a bad man deep down inside. He was just lost and hurt.

She bent over him and kissed the top of his head as he held up the gun at last with a triumphant chuckle. "Boy, they don't call it a death grip for nothing!" he giggled. "C'mon, dollface, let's beat it."

"We have to be quiet and careful if we don't want the alarms raised…" she began, taking his hand and heading down the corridor. But she was interrupted by Jack shooting through the glass panel on the wall and activating one of the emergency alarms. He grinned at her as the sirens blared.

"Where would be the fun in that?" he chuckled. Harley heard guards racing toward them, and tried to pull Jack down the hall, but he stood his ground, laughing to himself.

"Freeze!" shouted the six guards who had responded immediately, guns pointed at them. "Hands in the air!"

Jack giggled, obeying as he lifted his hands above his head. He kept hold of the gun, however, and suddenly fired upward, shooting out the lights and plunging the corridor into darkness. Harley heard firing and screaming, and then felt Jack's low chuckle in her ear as his hand slid onto her waist.

"What do you think, baby? Prefer it with the lights out?"

"Prefer…what?"

"Killing, of course!" he giggled. "What do you think I was talking about?"

Harley didn't know how to respond, and pulled Jack down the corridor, feeling her way until they came to the door of the cell block. She unlocked this and pushed it open, and was immediately greeted by another group of six guards.

Jack opened the chamber of his gun. "Hmm. Only four bullets," he sighed, looking up at the guards. He grinned. "Hold still, boys," he murmured, raising the barrel.

He fired at point blank range, the bullet passing through two guards at once. The other guards spread out and began firing, and both Jack and Harley dove behind pillars to avoid them. Jack leaned out, his next shot sailing past them. The bullet hit a lampshade, ricocheting off this at an angle so that it pinged back and buried itself in the back of a guard's head. His final two bullets found their marks in two guard's skulls, leaving a lone one to deal with.

Jack stood up and stepped out from behind the pillar, holding up his hands and dropping the gun. "All right, you got me," he said to the remaining guard. He held out his wrists. "Handcuff me and take me back to my cell."

The guard approached him and warily lowered his gun, reaching for his handcuffs. "Psych!" shouted Jack, slamming his forehead into the guard's skull. He flicked out the pair of scissors he'd stowed down his sleeve and plunged them deep into the guard's eye.

Jack chuckled madly as the body fell to the ground, and turned to beam at Harley. "Told you they'd put out an eye!" he laughed.

Harley slowly came over to join him, feeling sick as she looked around at the carnage. "What have you done, Jack?" she whispered.

He patted her on the head. "Not that name, remember, baby?" he murmured. "Not that name. I'm not that guy anymore, I told you."

"But Jack…Mr. J," she corrected. "This is horrible…"

"Is it?" he giggled. "Or have I done them a favor? The world's a dark, bleak, horrible place, Harley. The only time people smile is when they're leaving it. When they're dead. See?" he said, gesturing at one of the bodies, which did seem to have a slight grin in death. "It's the best gift you can give someone, really. A smile. Happiness. Peace. Death."

His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. "Should I give it to you, baby?" he murmured, holding up the bloody scissors. "Should I give you the greatest gift?"

"Would you really hurt me?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh baby, everybody hurts the people they love eventually," he whispered, wiping away her tears. "The kind ones kill the people they love, because the dead are happy and free and peaceful. And the mean ones let the people they love linger on, suffering, dying slowly, too selfish to give them peace. If Bruce and you really loved me, you would have killed me a long time ago. Just as I should kill you both. It's what a nice guy would do."

He put the blade against her throat and held it there for several agonizing seconds. And then he bent down and whispered in her ear, "But I ain't a nice guy."

He removed the blade and Harley gasped in relief. He giggled. "I know, I'm such a joker!" he chuckled.

"Mr. J…" began Harley, but she was cut off as Jack kissed her, hard and deep.

"I do love you, Harley," he whispered. "And you love me, right, baby? You won't ever leave me, will you? You won't leave me alone the way Bruce and my family did. I couldn't stand being abandoned again. You won't leave me like my mother did, lost and alone and afraid. Will you?"

There was something in his deep, green eyes, something so tender and heartbreaking and childlike, that despite the blood that dripped down his face from the battle, Harley had never seen anyone look so helpless or innocent. There was a yearning desperation in his eyes – he needed her. She was the only one who had never left him, the only one he could truly trust. And Harley didn't want to be anything else but the person he loved and needed.

She kissed him tenderly. "I won't ever leave you, puddin'," she whispered, taking his hand and leading him out into the cool, dark night. "Not ever."


	21. Chapter 21

The telephone rang, and Thomas Wayne wondered why Alfred wasn't answering it. "Alfred!" he called, looking up from his newspaper in front of the fire.

"It's his night off, dear," reminded Martha, not looking up from her knitting.

"Dammit, that's right," grumbled Thomas, folding his paper and getting to his feet as the phone continued to ring. "Where's Bruce?"

"He had some party to go to," replied Martha. "You know how college boys are," she said, smiling at him.

He grunted as he picked up the telephone. "Hello, Wayne residence," he said. He listened to the voice on the other end, and his face grew gradually paler. "I…I see," he stammered. "Well, thank you very much. We'll…be there as soon as possible."

"Thomas, what is it?" asked Martha, noticing his horrified expression as he hung up the phone.

"There's been a breakout at Arkham," he murmured to his wife. "A lot of people have been killed. They think they know who did it."

She stared at him in horror. "Not…Jack?" she stammered.

He nodded. "He's the only one missing, along with Harleen Quinzel. Right now they don't know if Jack's kidnapped her or if she's gone with him voluntarily…"

"She likes clowns," murmured a soft voice from the window. "She's always liked chasing clowns."

They turned as a bolt of lightning illuminated a figure standing there. He was tall and pale and dressed in a purple suit, his smile huge and menacing.

"Jack?" whispered Thomas.

The figure stepped into the light, holding up a playing card with a smiling clown face. "It's the Joker now," he murmured. "The Joker. And ain't I just a card!" he chuckled, flicking the playing card at him.

"Jack, where's Harley?" demanded Thomas.

"She's safe, Mr. Wayne," he murmured. "Safe and happy. I left her asleep in bed, one satisfied customer, if you know what I'm saying," he chuckled.

"Oh…my God!" he stammered, horrified. "You…raped her?"

Jack's eyes narrowed in fury. "I ain't Joe Chill," he muttered. "I didn't do anything to her against her will. I think she was a little shocked by the violence at first, but she fell asleep with a smile on her face, and that's what I like to see. She's got a sweet, compassionate heart, Harley, and she's a bright kid. Real fast learner, and really adaptable to anything. So she's gonna stay with me. She ain't gonna abandon me. Not like my family did."

"Jack, we didn't have a choice…" began Thomas.

"You always had a choice, Mr. Wayne!" he interrupted, furiously. "And you always made the wrong ones! I don't know if you were just stupid or heartless or some combination of the two, but every choice you made from the moment of my conception was wrong! You had a choice to save my mother from her brute of a husband, and me from my brute of a stepfather! But did you? No, you moved on, found someone else, started a new family, and gave up any kinda responsibility or loyalty toward your old one! And now when the prodigal son returns, you don't even look happy to see me! Why don't you smile, Mr. Wayne? That's all you can do in this joke of a life, isn't it? Just smile!"

"What do you want here, Jack?" asked Thomas.

Jack laughed. "Do I have to _want _something to come home, Mr. Wayne? I don't want anything more than what I've always wanted. A home. A family. Parents who loved me. But that was never gonna be the case for me – my family couldn't accept the path I'd chosen or the person I'd become. They still can't. They lock me away, shut me outta sight, and try to forget about me. But I ain't gonna be forgotten, Mr. Wayne. Not by you or anyone else. By the time I'm through with this stinking town, everybody in it is gonna know my name: The Joker. If I can't have the love of my own family, I'll have the adoration of the masses. Or make them cower in fear, anyway," he chuckled. "That's what my first father taught me about how family treats each other. And my second father didn't set a hugely better example."

"Jack, we tried to love you," whispered Martha. "We both did…"

"I don't blame you, Mrs. Wayne," he said, gently. "You did try. It would be difficult for any woman to love another woman's son, a woman that her husband loved before he met her. That must have really eaten away at you, but you never showed that to me. You were never unkind. I have nothing against you. This isn't a personal vendetta, not like Joe Chill was."

"What are you talking about, vendetta?" demanded Thomas. "You wouldn't kill us, Jack! You wouldn't kill your own father!"

"No, Mr. Wayne, Jack wouldn't kill you," he agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun. "But I'm not Jack anymore, remember? I'm the Joker now. And the Joker lives to spread smiles and laughter, especially to the people he loves."

"And don't you love us?" asked Thomas.

"I do love you, Mr. Wayne," said Jack, nodding. "That's why I'm doing this. I just love Bruce more."

"Jack, you're mad!" whispered Thomas. "You need help…"

"I needed love, Mr. Wayne!" he roared. "Not to be imprisoned and abandoned and tortured in Arkham! That's all I ever wanted," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "Unconditional love. And the only person in my family who ever gave me that was Bruce. I know…no matter what happens…no matter what I do, Bruce will always be there for me. He'll always support me. And he'll always love me."

He raised his gun to Thomas's face. "Something you never did, Father," he whispered. "You don't even deserve to have me call you that. But since this is the last time we're ever gonna see each other, it seems like a nice thing to do. And I'm a nice guy, really."

He pulled the trigger and fired directly into Thomas's skull. Martha screamed as his body fell to the ground, and Jack rounded on her. "Nothing personal, Mrs. Wayne," he repeated, softly. "Really. You did the best you could."

She stood, staring at him and shaking, as tears dripped down her face. He approached her, shushing her gently, as he bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Goodbye, Stepmother," he murmured. The barrel of the gun was pressed against her stomach, and he fired. He held her, soothing her, until he felt her life slip away, and then lay her carefully down on the ground.

He straightened up, laughing at the blood that covered his clothing. He rubbed some off onto his fingers, and then looked around, grinning. "Might as well leave my brother a note!" he giggled, tracing his bleeding finger down the wall…


	22. Chapter 22

Bruce Wayne returned home slightly intoxicated, but still sober enough to drive, since he knew it was Alfred's night off, so he'd have to drive himself. He pulled the car up in front of Wayne Manor, slamming the door a little louder than necessary and heading inside. He saw the light from the fire still shining from the living room, and wondered why his parents hadn't gone to bed yet – it was pretty late. But then he assumed maybe they had stayed up to see that he got home safely. The least he could do was greet them and wish them goodnight.

He opened the door to the living room with a smile on his face, which instantly fell in shock and horror.

The first thing he noticed was the writing on the wall – dripping red and reading _You wanted to know how I feel – I feel like this – J_.

And then his eyes dropped slowly down to the bodies on the floor, the bodies of his parents.

For a moment, time stopped and he felt nothing. And then pain shot through every fiber of his being as he roared in a mixture of agony and fury. He couldn't hold back to sound of his despair even if he wanted to – it was too strong, too violent. There was nothing else in the world but pain.

He finally managed to call Alfred, and the police, and regain some semblance of composure, although that had taken him hours, hours that he'd spent wailing in despair, cradling the corpses of his parents. He knew he wasn't supposed to disturb a crime scene, but in this case, the police didn't need any evidence. The killer had left them a note, and there was no doubt in Bruce's mind who had done this, even before he saw the Joker playing card lying on the floor.

He didn't see his brother again for a long time. The only way Bruce could deal with the situation was to run away. And so he ran far, far away – to Japan and Tibet and China. He found an outlet for his pain in martial arts training. And he only returned to Gotham when news reached him of his brother's crime sprees. He knew he couldn't run from this anymore. Jack was his responsibility, and he had to confront him.

They met without formally arranging anything – they both just knew the other would be there, on the roof of the Ace Chemicals building, on the third anniversary of Jack's transformation. Bruce had adopted a disguise – he was dressed in a black suit and mask with a dark cape, and the man in the purple suit studied him, laughing.

"Is that meant to frighten me?" he asked, grinning at him. "Because if so, I think you need to take a few more shrinking courses. Nobody's afraid of bats."

"It's meant to conceal my identity," growled Bruce. "I don't want anyone else to know I'm connected to you in any way."

"So you want them to think you're just some lunatic in a bat costume?" chuckled Jack.

"Better than the alternative," retorted Bruce.

Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself. Which you clearly have!" he giggled, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I think I preferred your Zorro costume. But you are a sight for sore eyes after all this time, even in that ridiculous outfit, little bro."

"You are not my brother!" shouted Bruce. "My brother couldn't do what you did to me!"

Jack shrugged again. "You said you wanted to know what I was going through. I just granted your wish. Told you to be careful what you wished for!" he giggled. "Anyway, you should just smile and get over it. That's what everyone told me to do for years after my mother's murder. Smile and be happy. Because it's that easy to move on from the violent death of a parent!" he laughed.

Bruce didn't respond. "Why…did you do it, Jack?" he whispered.

"It was fun!" replied Jack, grinning. "That's why I do everything now, Brucie! And now there's no one to come between us anymore, don't you understand? It'll be just you and me, all the time, brothers supporting each other…"

"I'm not supporting your ridiculous criminal crusade!" snapped Bruce.

"Really? Doesn't look that way to me!" laughed Jack. "Looks like you're joining me by becoming some freak in a costume!"

"I'm not going to commit crimes," growled Bruce. "I'm just going to bring you to justice."

Jack giggled. "Good luck to you, Brucie!" he chuckled. "I look forward to you trying!"

Bruce was about to respond when he was struck on the back of the head by a blow from a hammer. He fell to the ground, winded, and whirled around to see a familiar girl dressed in a skintight red and black outfit, her face painted white to mimic Jack's. "Harley?" gasped Bruce.

"That's right, Brucie," she murmured, grinning. "The name's Harley Quinn."

"What's a criminal genius without his sidekick, am I right, Brucie?" giggled Jack, coming over to plant a kiss on her lips. "So as you can see, you're outnumbered. Maybe I should kill you right now," he said, pulling out a gun and aiming it at his brother's head.

Then he pulled it away, chuckling softly. "But where would be the fun in that?" he laughed. "No, you clearly wanna play, Bruce, so let's play. We'll do this costume gag night after night until you get tired of playing, and then you can kill me, ok?"

"I will never kill anyone," whispered Bruce.

"All right then, I'll kill you eventually!" laughed Jack. "But not tonight, Bruce – I got other business to attend to."

He spanked Harley playfully. "Go start the car, toots," he said. "I got things under control here."

Harley kissed him and skipped off. "Sweet kid," he said, nodding at her. "Loyal, y'know? I like that in a dame."

He knelt down next to Bruce. "And you're loyal too, aren't you, Bruce?" he asked. "No matter what happens, we'll always be there for each other, right? That's what we promised each other."

"Maybe you should just kill me, Jack," whispered Bruce. "Finish the job. I've got nothing left to live for but pain."

Jack shook his head. "Nah. There's always vengeance, Bruce. That's what I lived for for fifteen years, before I became the happy soul I am today. Now I live for fun. And maybe you'll get to that stage one day too, when you get past the pain. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

He turned away, whistling. "Oh, one more thing," he said, grinning at him. "What do I call you?"

"I'm…Batman," stammered Bruce.

"Batman," repeated Jack, nodding. "Batman and the Joker. I think it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship!" he chuckled.

Bruce watched him leave, his mocking laughter fading into blackness. The night suddenly seemed much darker than it ever had before.

**The End**


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